T H E 


LADDER OF LIFE. 


BY 


THOMAS SHEEHAN. 




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BOSTON : 


PRESS OF ROCKWELL & CHURCHILL, 39 ARCH STREET, 


18 7 8. 


Copyrighted, 1877, by Thomas Sheeiian. All rights reserved. 



THE 



LADDER OF LIFE 




THOMAS SHEEHAK 








BOSTON : 

PRESS OF ROCKWELL St CHURCHILL : 

39 Arch Street. 

1878. 



Copyrighted, 1877, by Thomas Sheehan. All rights reserved 






r 
as* 7 * 



§ramafis IPmattE anb Ccsirams. 

Chaet.es Clifford. — Act First: Dark-colored threadbare and slightly 
dilapidated hut tastefully adjusted costume. Act Second : New and fashionable ; 
not ostentatious. Act Third: Same. Act Fourth: Same, umch worn. Act 
Fifth, Scene Third : Prison dress, which is exchanged for Mike's. Scene Fourth : 
1st dress, Mike's; 2d dress. Dressing-gown and whiskers a la franqaise. Scene 
Fifth : Mike's, minus gown and whiskers. 

Professor. — Words delivered with a slight Yankee accent. Blue swallow- 
tailed coat with brass buttons; fancy figured vest ; pants to suit; light-colored, 
very long nap, bell-top silk hat; massive watch-chain; long gray hair; small 
gray whiskers on chin, etc. 

Robert Arnold. — Fashionable cut, color to suit complexion; but prefer- 
ably a dark-complexioned, regular -featured, graceful-moving man of the Italian 
or Spanish type, apparelled in dark colors, varied as the play advances. 

Fred Revere. — Act First: Very dilapidated light-colored and carelessly 
(not slovenly) adjusted costume. Act Fourth : New light-colored, fashionable, 
& la ready-made costume. Act Fifth : "Same. 

Boswick. — Very fancy colors, extremely fashionable cut. Hair and whisk- 
ers so arranged as to give the face a slight resemblance to a poodle ; light com- 
plexion. 

Mike. — Corduroy knee-breeches; blue stockings; short-skirt English walking 
coat. Exchanges with Charles in prison. 

Police. — Nos. 1 and 2. Uniform. 

Minister. — Nos. 1 and 2. Black. 

Jailer. — Ordinary or prison officer's uniform. 

Attorney. — Plain business. 

Clara. — Plain, subdued colors, a la American educated lady in good cir- 
cumstances, varied as the play advances. 

Jenny. — Act Third: Calico. Act Fourth: Same, much worn. Act Fifth, 
Scene Third: Male costume, boy. Scene Fourth : Female attire. Scene Fifth : 
Same. 

Miss Amariah. — Plain, subdued colors, varied as the piece advances. 



TNP96-GJ6734 



THE LADDEK OF LIFE. 



>X*< 



ACT I. 

Scene 1. — Parlor, with door in f. ; sofa r. ; table l. c, with 
bouquet; bookcase R. back; parlor stove l. Clara discovered 
seated at table. 

Clara. To-day, my twentieth birthday, uncle has promised to 
disclose my parentage : why he should have kept it a secret is a 
problem I could never solve. Perhaps it was to give me a pleasant 
surprise. I mustn't be surprised at anything uncle says or does, he 
is such an original oddity. 

Enter Miss Am., r. 

But I may be uncle's daughter ! 

Miss Am. Impossible, my dear ! How can you be the daughter 
of your uncle? Besides, the Professor has never had a wife, and 
consequently could have no daughter. 

Clara. But, aunt, I must be somebody's daughter. 

Miss Am. Now you are among the possibilities. It is plainly 
evident that every young lady must be a daughter to somebody. 

Enter Prof, and Ark., f. from l. 

Clara. Yes ; but whose daughter am I? 

Prof. Your father's, my dear. 

Clara. O uncle ! (Goes to Prof.) And he was — 

Prof. The husband of your mother. [Kisses Clara. 

Clara. Thank you, uncle, for your information. But remem- 
ber you promised me that on my twentieth birthday you would give 
me all the information you possessed regarding my parents. Uncle, 
this day is my twentieth birthday. 

Prof. No, my dear, this is not your birthday. 

Clara. Not my birthday ! 
. Prof. No. When you first came into my possession, twenty 
years ago, you were then some months old, which, therefore, adds 
a plus to your age ; and I fear that plus will always remain an un- 
known quantity. But let me introduce the son of an old friend and 
schoolmate, — Mr. Bobert Arnold. Mr. Arnold, my ward, Miss 
Clara Harold ; and my very esteemed friend, Miss Amariah. 



4 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Miss Am. You are welcome, sir. 

Clara. Any friend of uncle's is always welcome. 

Arn. Thanks, ladies. I hope I shall always merit a welcome. 

Prof. Spoken like his father. Ah ! many the lampful of oil we 
burned together in trying to discover the missing link in Darwin's 
theology ; but we failed. Then he became disgusted, and repudiated 
Darwin altogether ; but I still maintain my old opinions. The miss- 
ing link will yet be found, the chain become complete. Then what 
a glorious victory for science ! Science, the only lamp which lights 
the world, through how many ages have you — 

Clara. Yes, uncle, through how many ages have I been without 
knowing anything about myself ? 

Prof. My dear child, let your curiosity rest a while. 

Clara. A woman's curiosity, uncle, once aroused, can never 
rest till satisfied. 

Prof. My dear, you must know that, when science is under con- 
sideration, it is primary, and feminine curiosity is but secondary ; 
and a secondary should never usurp the place of a primary. 

Clara. I am not familiar with your science, uncle ; but experi- 
ence and observation have taught me that happiness is the primary 
consideration, and all others are secondary ; and, uncle, a secondary 
should never usurp the place of a primary. 

Prof. Scientifically correct; but what applicability does that 
bear to feminine curiosity? 

Clara. Curiosity, uncle, is one form of suspense, and suspense 
is an attribute of unhappiness ; and whatever tends to remove un- 
happiness always adds to happiness ; and, consequently, uncle, by 
satisfying my curiosity you will be relieving my suspense, thereby 
promoting my happiness. 

Prof. Then, my dear, you shall be happy. 

Arn. As this does not concern me, probably I had better retire. 

Miss Am. Not at all, sir ; Clara's origin is such that she may be 
proud of. 

Clara. It may be a very entertaining romance, sir. Now, 
uncle — 

Prof. "Well, in the first place, my dear, you must know that 
I am — 

Clara. Yes, you are — 

Prof. Not your uncle. 

Clara. Then, you are my — 

Prof. Guardian only by right of discovery. Twenty years ago, 
at the expiration of my scientific researches in Europe, I engaged 
passage on board the ship "Argus," from England to America. 
Among the passengers was a gentleman, his wife, and two small 
children, brother and sister. The gentleman was a retired army 
officer, Captain Harold. He was accompanied by an Irish servant 
called Corporal McNoon. One day there arose a most violent 
storm ; we were all on deck witnessing the phenomenon, and I had 
both children in my arms playing with them, when a huge, moun- 
tainous portion of the agitated ocean, with an indescribable sub- 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 5 

limity, came furiously rushing upon us, and angrily swept over us, 
carrying with it the gentleman, his wife, and Irish corporal, leaving 
me with two babies entangled in the ship's ladders, nautically nomen- 
clatured ratlines, from which with difficulty I became extricated. 
Upon landing I gave the boy to a person called Revere. I placed 
on him a small gold medal, with the word "Argus" scratched on 
it. The girl I kept myself; you are that girl, Clara. 

Clara." What became of my brother, uncle? 

Prof. Some years after I 'called for him, but Revere had dis- 
appeared ; upon inquiry I was informed that the boy had died soon 
after I had gone. 

Clara. Oh, how I wish my brother had lived ; how I would have 
loved him ! Do you remember, uncle, how he looked? 

Prof. All babies look alike to me ; I could not distinguish a boy 
from a girl. But I have another very important secret for you, 
Clara. 

Clara. Yes, uncle. 

Prof. Every year for twenty years I have placed to your account 
five bundred dollars ; the total sum, plus the five hundred I add 
to-day, amounts to ten thousand dollars. 

Clara. O uncle ! uncle ! 

[Places arm about Prof.'s neck and kiss. 

Prof. Now, my dear, that sum I place in your hands on the day 
of your marriage. 

Clara. I shall never leave you, uncle. 

Prof. Very well, my dear, we shall talk of that another time. 
(Looks at watch.) But I must be going, business must not be 
neglected ; I must advertise my nostrum extensively to-day. ( Takes 
hat and valise.) If you are going anvAvhere this evening, I shall 
be in the square, and you may send word, if you wish my escort. 
Mr. Arnold, I leave you to amuse yourself as you may. 

Miss Am. Professor, we are going to the theatre this evening. 

Prof. Very well, I shall be back in time to accompany you. 

[Exit F. off L. 

Miss Am. Clara, we shall retire and complete our arrangements 
for the evening's entertainment. Mr. Arnold, please excuse our 
absence. [Exit r. 

Arn. Ten thousand dollars, and a most charming girl ! That is 
something worth striving for, and 1 will strive for it. My wife 
she must be. 

Scene 2. — Street. 

Enter Fred and Chas., r., walking slowly, Fred in advance with 
small bundle in red handkerchief, suspended from stick over 
shoulder. Chas. with small valise suspended from stick over 
shoulder. Wardrobe very threadbare. Chas. stops at c. 

Chas. Fred, I'm not going any farther; this monotonous, dis- 
agreeable kind of a life I'll not lead any longer. 

Fred. Come, come, Charles, cheer up, don't be discouraged. 



6 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Chas. Fred, this day must decide our future welfare, and — and 
— to do so we must part. 

Fred. What ! We part ! Dissolve a friendship which has lasted 
so long ! Absurd ; I won't believe it. Misfortune has affected your 
brain, and, of course, not responsible for what you say. 

Chas. My dear boy, I do not wish to dissolve our friendship; I 
only want to advance our mutual welfare. 

Fred. Mutual nonsense ! Mutual starvation, more like. Why, 
it takes our strongest mutual combined efforts to keep our body and 
soul together ; so how is our separation going to advance our wel- 
fare? 

Chas. We prevent each other from starving, I know; but we 
also prevent each other from raising above our present position. 

Fred. Now, that is what I call false philosophy, Charles. How 
do you prove it? 

Chas. We rely too much on each other, Fred. The most suc- 
cessful men in life have become so through their own individual 
exertions, and a large part of them date their success from extreme 
adversity, which proves that it required something very extraor- 
dinary to stimulate that energy which lay dormant,' and which was 
necessary for success. Now, Fred, there may be energy enough 
in either of us to change our condition, if we only exert ourselves. 

Fred. To change our condition requires no energy. Charles, I 
will show you life as it really is ; I will illustrate it by a ladder, and 
call it the Ladder of Life. Now, to us, or to any who are situated 
as we now are, that ladder is very long and narrow, with a large 
number of broken places. Now, all the world is on that ladder, and 
they are all trying to reach a place called Happiness, situated at 
different heights to different persons ; but there are so many broken 
places, and they are so very difficult to pass, that a large part of 
the climbers give up in despair and fall off, for without assistance 
no one can pass a broken place. Charles, we are now on the low- 
est step of that ladder ; together we hold each other on that step ; 
to part, is to loose our hold and drop off; and once off that ladder 
you can never get on again ; but while you stay on there is hope of 
going higher. 

Chas. A very excellent illustration, indeed, Fred ; but that ladder 
is so narrow that we cannot climb together ; we must climb it singly 
and alone ; then, he who becomes successful, can afterwards very 
easily assist the other over the broken places ; but to remain 
together on the same step, is to be always hoping, and he who hopes 
and never does, will on no ladder ever rise. 

Fred. Charles, remember "there is a divinity that shapes our 
ends, rough hew them as we may." 

Chas. Fred, the same author says, " There is a tide in the affairs 
of men, which, if taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." Now, 
the tide in our affairs may have arrived at its flood this very day. 

Fred. At its ebb, more likely. Charles, twenty yelars ago, 
when you were left at our house, my mother nursed you as tenderly 
as if you were her own baby, receiving nothing for her pains but 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 7 

an old medal with the word "Argus" on it. Now, Charles, you 
need nursing still, and I fear I shall have to do for you now what 
my mother done for you twenty years ago ; but I shall ask more 
than an old medal for my pains. 

Chas. Oh, Fred, you don't know how this pains me ! But this 
life we must change, — yes, we must part. Fred, here are two 
roads : you choose one and I'll choose the other. Which will you 
choose? 

Fred. Which? I've got no choice. Yes; I'll choose them both. 

Chas. Then we shall let luck decide it. (Picks up stick.) Here, 
which end of this stick do you choose? 

Fred. Both ends. 

Chas. Then I'll choose. This is my end, that is yours. What- 
ever direction this end points, I'll go; that end, you go. (Toss up 
stick.) This is my road (points l.) ; that yours (points r. Picks 
up stick and breaks it.) Here, take this : I'll keep this to remem- 
ber a dear and noble friend by. [Gives piece stick to Fred. 

Fred. Are we ever going to meet again? 

Chas. Yes, one year from to-day let us meet on that square 
(points l.) ; and whoever is successful will divide with the other. 
Good-by, Fred, good-by, and may Heaven preserve you till we 
meet again. 

Fred. Charles, beware of the broken places on the Ladder of 
Life. Remember, without assistance, no one can pass them. 

Chas. Yes, Fred, I'll remember. Good-by, good-by, Fred. 

[Exit l. 

Fred. Good-by, Charles. Well, now what «am I to do? Yes, 
I'll climb that Ladder of Life, too. Here goes for it. [Exit r. 

Enter Prof., r., carrying small hand-trunk or valise, stops at a, 
lays clown baggage, appears as if to address, but looks at watch, 
hurriedly replaces it, snatches up baggage, and Exit l. 

Scene 3. — Street sq., with street-lamp r. back; Pedestrians, 
Newsboys, Bootblacks, fruit-stands, etc., etc.; snow falling 
slightly; lights lowered half down. Enter Lamp-lighter,, l., 
with ladder, and lights lamp, and Exit r. Enter Chas., r. u. e. 

Chas. Employment I cannot get; all my applications are met 
with either distrust or disdain. When a man is down, this whole 
world seems to combine to keep him down. I have not the courage 
to beg, and I don't want to steal. Oh, what can I do? Ah ! yes, I 
see a way (with bottle). This has cured me of a very severe rheu- 
matism when everything else had failed. Now, I can sell this, and, 
with the proceeds, buy some more, and sell again, and again, and 
again. Thank Heaven, I can now pass the first broken step on the 
Ladder of Life. Now to climb it. Ladies and gentlemen, if you will 
deign to give me your attention a few moments, I shall endeavor, to 
the best of my ability, to describe an article to which I invite your 
close inspection. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 



Enter Prof, r., 1st entrance. 



My friends (Bootblack and Newsboy stand in front of Ch as.), 
the article to which I invite your inspection is this (holds up bottle) . 

Prof. Hello, what is this dilapidated specimen of humanity try- 
ing to perform? 

Chas. It is used as an external application in all rheumatic affec- 
tions, and, in the majority of cases, it allays the most violent pains. 
It would be absurd in me, my friends, to say that my medicine would 
cure all cases, for no medicine will do that ; and the article that is 
recommended to cure all ills will, as a rule, without any exception, 
cure no ill. In cases where my medicine should fail, it is perfectly 
harmless. I would not recommended it to be taken internally, as it 
is too strong to be agreeable ; and, in all serious cases, no medicine 
should be used only by the approval of an experienced physician. 

Prof. "VVal, I should say this creature was a sort of an educated 
fool ; it is very evident he never was intended for the business he is 
now engaged in. [Prof, at back r. 

Chas. My friends, as I have fully tested it myself upon my own 
person, I can, therefore, conscientiously recommend it equal to — 

Prof. Blood, blood, blood ! War, war, war ! Ladies and gentle- 
men, he who advances the assertion, that he is the most perfect of 
his kind, unjustly accuses himself of that which he is not, and will, 
eventually, become an inmate of our institutions for imbecillic and 
aged children. {People all crowd in front of Prof.) Ladies and 
gentlemen, it is not necessary to announce who I am individually, as 
my fame always precedes me ; but, as there may be some here who 
are not familiar with the learned institutions of our country, for their 
edification and gratification I humbly announce myself as Professor 
Wyseall, the greatest living nomenclaturist and Professor of Poly- 
ology and originator and promulgator of an unrivalled systematic 
polyological classification of all biologized animation. I have re- 
duced all nature to a comprehensible polytechnical nomenclature, — 
an undertaking never before accomplished by any mammalian ver- 
tibrated biped. For years I have soliloquized in the vast expansive 
unexplorations of the miocenical geologic portions of this our un- 
surpassable freedomated portion of the terraqueous sphere, com- 
muning with no one but the indigenous aboriginal bimanic bipedal 
mammals. And what is the result of all these years of toil, pri- 
vation, and study? It is this {holds up bottle). This, which I 
now place before what should be your astonished gaze, is a solidified 
alkaline silicate. Enclosed within this silicate is a composition 
which can emanate from none but an extremely learned brain ; — 
it is the ne plus ultra of a series of complicated, laborious studies ; 
it is an aqueous solution of the solidified concentrated extract of nine 
distinct genera of my polyological arrangement of the botanical 
kingdom, embracing every species in each genera, and is recom- 
mended by me and all the learned faculties in the World for all ills 
that flesh is heir to ; it is a pi'incipal ingredient in the prescription 
of every M.D. in the civilized world. But if there is an M.D. who 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. if 

does not recommend my production, you will find him, on a scrutin- 
izing inspection, to bear a close resemblance to the dilapidated 
party who preceded me in trying to force upon your good nature a 
most worthless nostrum. Beware of all such parties, pis address, 
language, and whole appearance, would justify you in comparing 
him to some M.D. who had poisoned half the community in which 
he formerly resided, and now flies to you for assistance. 

Chas. My friends, don't you believe this man. 

Prof. He says his article is too strong to be administered inter- 
nally. Conclusive evidence of its being a most virulent poison. 
He says, in cases where it fails, it is harmless ; sufficient proof of 
its being worthless. His whole address conveys the idea, that to 
take his medicine you must also take a physician. 

Chas. Ladies and gentlemen — 

Crowd. Ha, ha, ha ! Go poison yourself. 

Prof. My friends, I believe I have proved the superiority of my 
production, so as no rational being will doubt its efficacy; and all 
who desire it can procure it at any pharmaceutical establishment; 
or, it will be furnished you, accompanied by a nosological diagnosis, 
on application at my laboratory. [Crowd go off. 

Chas. Oh ! how hard it is to climb this Ladder of Life., 

Prof. Young man, remember I sweep all competition from my 
path (Charles turns away) ; but I would advise you to choose 
another occupation. If you remain in this, it is sure bankruptcy, 
for you are not adapted to it. This world is full of men who are 
discouragingly and unsuccessfully toiling at what nature never in- 
tended them. But if you do remain in this business, remember 
there are two kinds of honesty in this world : conscientious and 
legal honesty. This advice I give you gratis ; I purchased it at a 
dear experience. Good-day ! [Exit r. 

Chas. Oh! what can I do? Must I starve? No, no. I'll — 
yes, I'll beg; it is my last and only chance. 

Enter Arn., r. 

Arn. Professor ain't here. I must have missed him on the way. 

Chas. Sir, please give me a supper ; I will repay you when I 
can. 

Arn. Eh? Give you a supper? My dear sir, I would be very 
happy to accede to your request if I could do so without outraging 
reason and nature ; but there are three very excellent reasons, sir, 
which prevent my satisfying your demand. The first reason is, 
that, by giving you a supper, I should be cheating the earth out of 
so much very valuable fertilizing matter; now, that would be 
wronging the community. The second reason is, it would be con- 
tinuing your existence, thereby prolonging your misery ; now, that 
would be wronging you. The third reason is, I should be giving 
without receiving any equivalent; now, that would be wronging 
myself. I presume, sir, you are aware that you must leave this 
world some time ; you gain nothing by staying in it, by leaving it 
now, you may save several hours of anxiety. Good-day ! [Exit r. 



10 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

{Snow falling fast. Chas. kneels. Music, "Sweet Spirit, Hear My 
Prayer.'" Voices in distance singing same. Voices slowly die 
away.) 

Enter Police, l., walking slowly. 

Police. Hello ! what is this? Come, come, get off the sidewalk. 
{Places foot against Chas., and throws him, and rolls him with 
his foot down stage.) If you want to lay anywhere, lay in the 
gutter, and not be a stumbling-block for people to fall over. There ! 
Strangy, society must be burdened with such creatures. {Exit r. 

Enter chorus of male and female voices, singing " We won't go 
home till morning." Cross stage and Exit r. Singing dies 
away. Enter Prof, and Clara, r., with raised umbrella. 
Clara. What nice sleighing this will make, uncle. (Chas. 
groans.) Ha! what's that? 

Prof. That? Why, it is the poor creature who had the audacity 
to compete with me. It is only an unsuccessful man. {Gives um- 
brella to Clara, goes to Chas., and places foot upon him.) Clara, 
here you see a picture of the Ladder of Life, — the unsuccessful 
and the successful man. 

[Clara throws down umbrella and runs to Chas. 
Clara. No, no, uncle, your picture is not complete ; a woman 
belongs on that ladder {raises Chas.' head in her arms, kneeling 
at his side), and here is her place. 

Enter Miss Am., and Arn., r. 
Miss Am. Professor, what is this? 
Prof. This is the Ladder of Life. [Tableau. 

Curtain. 



ACT II. 



Parlor. — Same as Scene 1, Act I. Clara discovered seated, 
r. Miss Am., l. 
Miss Am. Clara, I have been interviewed on several occasions 
regarding the disposal of your hand. I have dismissed all parties 
entertaining such ideas without much ceremony, informing them I 
had no idea of your becoming a secondary consideration to any 
man ; but as the Professor has prevailed upon me to request you 
to choose a husband, I simply communicate his request, but permit 
you to use your own discretion. 

Enter Prof., f. from l. 
Prof. Good-day, Amy. 

Miss Am. Good-day, Professor ; I have just communicated your 
demand to Clara. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 11 

Prof. And how does my dear receive it? 

Clara. With surprise, uncle. All the morning I have been most 
pleasantly surprised in receiving those very pretty presents, and 
reading the billet doux which accompany them. Now, here is a 
gentleman who is a perfect Shylock. 

Miss Am. They are all Shylocks, my dear. What does he de- 
mand, a pound of your flesh? 

Clara. Much more ; he demands my whole heart. 

Prof. Then he is a greater than Shylock. 

Clara. Here is his note, uncle ; you may read it. 

Prof. {Reading.) 

" If that sweet heart I did possess, 
No earthly cares would me oppress ; 
In this lone bosom I'd lock it fast, 
And treasure it there while life shall last." 

Hem ! very poetical, indeed ; but I never knew a poet yet that 
wasn't a lunatic. 

Clara. Here is another Shylock, but he is more modest than the 
other ; he only wants my hand. I suppose the next will want my 
feet. If I should try to please them all, uncle, I'd be in a very- 
awkward condition. 

Prof. By trying to please all, you will please none ; but by 
pleasing yourself, you will please the majority. 

Clara. Then I shall try and please the majority, uncle. But 
why do you wish me to choose a husband? 

Prof. No young lady should arrive at your age without good 
prospects of a husband. Several most excellent gentlemen — 

Miss Am. According to the general interpretation of the word 
"gentlemen." 

Prof. Have requested permission to place their hearts at your 
disposal. 

Clara. Oh, won't that be nice ! I'll have them all arranged 
alphabetically, and label them a la Museum. But will those fool- 
ish gentlemen survive a separation from their hearts? 

Prof. The gentlemen, I believe, accompany their hearts. Your 
aunt being an avowed man-hater, I fear you are becoming impreg- 
nated with her ideas, which may result in the most foolish nonsense, 
that of becoming an old maid. 

Miss Am. An old maid, sir, is not subject to the sulky, spiteful 
freaks of a jealous husband, — her mind is not in a continual worry, 
fearing she may not please her lord and master. An old maid, sir, 
leads a happy life. 

Prof. The extreme anxiety which every widow displays in try- 
ing to form another attachment does not bear you out in your asser- 
tions. Any person in the full possession and exercise of all their 
faculties who persists in leading a single life transgresses a funda- 
mental law of our being, — consequent^, an old maid is a crime 
against nature. By the by, Clara, what has become of your 
protege? 



12 THE LADDER OP LIFE. 

Clara. He calls to pay his respects to me very often, uncle. 

Miss Am. Clara, beware how you entertain any affection for a 
person whose previous life is a blank. Many a young lady has 
been wrecked beyond redemption by placing confidence in parties 
before ascertaining their real characters. 

Clara. His character shines in his eyes, aunt; and uncle says 
the soul is reflected in the eyes. 

Miss Am. Man is so great a dissembler, my dear, that he hides 
all reflection of his real character, and has at command a second 
character, which he reflects at will. Professor, if you will accom- 
pany me to the garden, you may examine some of my recent horti- 
cultural exploits. (Prof, takes Miss Am.'s arm.) Clara, if any 
of the visitors who may call should prove disagreeable, you can 
refer them to the garden ; we will entertain them. 

[Exit with Prof., f. off r. Clara seated on sofa, r. 

Clara. I have heard that when men wish to disclose their affec- 
tions, they become very ridiculous. Now, I suppose I must witness 
their absurdities. 

'Enter Boswick, f. from l. 

» Bos. Ah! Miss Clawah. 

Clara. Ah ! Mr. Boswick. 

Bos. Ah ! Clawah, I've come to — to — 

Clara. Enjoy yourself. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha, clevah! 

Clara. Be seated, please. 

Bos. Yah ! but — ah ! shall I sit upon the sofah, or — 

Clara. Every seat in the room is at your disposal. 

Bos. Ah ! then I will sit heah. \_Sits on sofa. 

Clara. Ah ! you find this the most attractive. 

Bos. Attwactive? Clawah! Ah! the magnet that attwacts the 
loadstone is not so attwactive as — ah ! — the ah ! — 

Clara. As the one which repels it. 

Bos. Ah! Clevah, clevah, I declah! I should nevah — nevah-^- 

Clara. Have answered so very foolishly. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha ! Clawah, I declah you are — 

Clara. Only a foolish girl, Mr. Boswick. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Why, Clawah, how vewy interesting our 
conversation is. 

Clara. Because we are both engaged in it, and we are always 
interested in our own conversation. 

Bos. By Jove, so we are — we — we learn something ewy hour 
— but — ah ! Clawah, I forgot — I — I weally forgot — 

Clara. What you were going to say. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Clevah, clevah! I declah — but — oh! I 
wemember, I'm studying stwonomy with the Pwofessoh. 

Clara. Ah! then you like astronomy? 

Bos. We — well, Clawah, I — I can hardly say I do. 

Clara. And why not? 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 13 

Bos. Be — because I weally can't see how one star can find out 
when another star wants to mawy him. 

Clara. Ha, ha, ha ! Why, stars don't marry. 

Bos. I — I beg pardon, Clawah ; but the Pwofessoh says, evewy- 
thing must be male or female ; and, last night, as I was stwono- 
mizing the sky, I saw one star wun wight into nuther star, and 
stay there. Now, they must have got mawied ; and — and — 
Clawah, how did that star know that the other star wanted to get 
mawied to him? 

Clara. Well, I suppose the first star desired to marry the other, 
and I presume he went and popped the question. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Clawah, I — I — I'm a star, and your star, 
and, Clawah, I — I pop. 

Clara. Pop what? 

Bos. The — the question. 

Clara. What question? 

Bos. The — the question that the star popped at the other star. 

Clara. But there are no stars here to pop at. 

Bos. No, no, Clawah; I — I'm poppin' at you. 

Clara. And why do you pop at me? 

Bos. Be — because I — I weally, Clawah — I declah — the — 
the — I — I weally — I — wha — what was I saying? 

Clara. Well, really, Mr. Bos wick, I haven't the least idea. 

Bos. Oh! I wemember. If you was a star, Clawah, and wanted 
to get mawied, and I was a star, and — and — 

Clara. The stars don't always marry, they sometimes refuse. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha ! Clevah, clevah ! — but — ah ! — astwonom- 
ically, Clawah, if you were a star would you mawy the other star? 

Clara. Not being a star, Mr. Boswick, I am not competent to 
answer. But {goes to f.) uncle and aunt are in the garden, and I 
believe they would be very happy to see you. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! 

Clara. And uncle may give you further instructions in astron- 
omy. 

Bos. Ah ! I hasten to weceive it. 

[Exit f. off r. Clara comes down stage. 

Clara. I wonder if there will be any more question-popping? 

Enter Arn. , f. from l. 

Arn. Bon jour, Mademoiselle Clara. 

Clara. Bon jour, Monsieur Arnold. I was not aware that you 
were familiar with a language not spoken here. 

Arn. Oh, yes ; in my recent tour in Europe, I was compelled to 
acquire several languages ; but I very seldom use any, except 
French. An occasional word, through our ordinary English, re- 
moves the vulgarity which all English sometimes creates. 

Clara. Then if you were to write a book for English readers, 
you would introduce all the French you could think of, I presume? 

Arn. No, that would be exposing a lack of common-sense ; but 
in conversation, it creates an atmosphere of refinement. 



14 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Clara. Then, if you were in. France, you would place yourself 
in a French atmosphere of refinement by substituting English for 
some of their French, I presume? 

Arn. No, I should use pure French. 

Clara. Why not remain in France? 

Arn. Because my heart is here, and so fast to an object, that I 
cannot remove the heart without the object; and the laws of the 
country forbid the removal of the object without its consent. 

Clara. Then why not obtain its consent? 

Arn. If you were the object, Clara, would you give your consent? 

Clara. Well, I should not keep any gentleman's heart from him. 

Arn. Would you accompany the heart if the gentleman desired it ? 

Clara. That would depend altogether on the gentleman, and 
who he was. 

Arn. Clara, I am that gentleman, and you are the object ; and, 
Clara, without you 

Enter Chas., f. from l. 
is without life. 

Clara. Oh Charles ! {Runs to Charles.) I am so glad you 
are come ! Mr. Arnold, please excuse me. Come, Charles, the 
garden is much pleasanter, and I have lots to tell you. 

[Exit both, f. off r. 

Arn. Ah, I see ! It is plainly evident that I possess no share of 
Clara's affections. This Clifford has usurped them. Now, he is 
perfectly aware that I possess a prior claim, and yet he completely 
ignores that claim, thereby advancing his own individual interests 
at my expense. Now, I have the same right to advance my inter- 
ests at his expense as he has at mine. But how? I might induce 
him to relate to me all the incidents of his past adventurous life, 
and from that I may hear something to my advantage. 

Enter Chas., f. from r. 
Ah! Mr. Clifford, are you disengaged? 

Chas. No, sir, not quite. I came in to get Clara's shawl; but 
if I can oblige you in any manner, Mr. Arnold, I should be very 
happy to do so. 

Arn. I have been thinking, recently, about investing my super- 
fluous moments in writing a novel, and I thought — as a portion of 
your life has been very adventurous — I thought, probably, the re- 
lation of it might assist me in composing a plot. 

Chas. With pleasure, sir ; I will relate it. I believe I have time 
to do so now. Clara is so very interested in Boswick's nonsense, 
that she won't miss me for a few moments. At what period of my 
existence shall I commence? 

Arn. The earliest you can remember. 

Chas. Well, the earliest I can remember is in the family of my 
adopted father, Mr. Charles Clifford, Sr. He says I was left there 
by a friend named Revere. Well, after a few years Mrs. Clifford 
died ; then Mr. Clifford and myself went roaming through Europe ; 
but he> becoming fascinated with Parisian society, with not enough dis- 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 15 

cretion to avoid the breakers, became hopelessly ruined ; desperation 
ensued, and the river which flows through Paris receives a victim, 
which places me in the world without friend, trade, or profession. 

Arn. Have you any idea what your real name is? 

Chas. When I was a child, I had always worn upon my person 
a small medal with the word " Argus " faintly scratched on it. 

Arn. Where is that medal now? 

Chas. The Cliffords had a little daughter called Jenny, my con- 
stant companion and playmate ; around her neck I placed the 
medal, and bade her good-by ; that was the last I have ever seen or 
heard of her. But Clara will be impatient. I'll tell you the rest 
at another time. [Exit f. to r. 

Arn. Why, this Clifford is the very child the professor saved ! 
He is Clara's brother, with an excellent prospect of becoming 
her husband! Now, where does my advantage lie? If I expose 
the relationship, will she marry me? Probably not; but if she 
should, — then I'd be losing : this Clifford would undoubtably 
receive half the property. But if she marries her brother, I can 
dissolve the union afterwards, substitute myself, and dispose of 
him ; thereby gaining both wife and full property. But to marry 
a woman who has been in the possession of another man — 

Clara {outside). Ha, ha, ha! 

Enter Clara and Charles, f. from r. 
and you really think I am an angel, Charles ? 

Chas. To me, Clara, you are all that any angel could be. 
(Arnold goes to f.) When to the lowest extremity of life reduced, 
on the verge of destruction placed, you, as my guardian angel, 
reached forth your hand, and, from the lowest rung of this Ladder of 
Life, lifted me up to where I now stand. Would any angel do more? 

Clara. If you continue your flattery, Charles, I may think I am 
an angel : then I shall be very vain, and, consequently, coquettish ; 
then consider how you shall suffer. 

Chas. I shall do my utmost to serve you, and pay no attention 
to the coquetry. 

Clara. Now, I'll test your willingness to serve me, Charles. 

Chas. Test me. 

Clara. First, you must promise to do what I shall now ask of you. 

Chas. I promise. 

Clara. Faithfully? 

Chas. And solemnly. 

Clara. Now, uncle has requested me to choose a husband to- 
day ; but I cannot do so myself, I — Charles, I'd have you, from 
among my friends, choose the man that I must call husband. 

Chas. Ah ! husband ! Oh, no, no ; I cannot do this. 

Clara. Oh, very well, if your word is of so little consequence — 

Chas. No, no, Clara, I value my word, but there are exceptions. 

Clara. Not to a gentleman of honor. 

Chas. Clara, will you promise not to reject my choice? Now, 
'tis only fair you should, — promise for promise. 



16 THE LADDER OE LIFE. 

Clara. Well, I promise. 
Chas. Then I have chosen. 
Clara. And your choice is — 
Chas. Myself. 

Clara. I did not think you were so selfish, Charles. 
Chas. Selfishness is a dominant principle through all animation ; 
it is the mainspring of all human actions. 

Watch the child playing with his worthless toys, 
And see what selfishness displayed in his joys. 
Now selfishness to the child came unsought, 
Which proves that it was by Nature taught. 
And whatever Nature to us gave, 
Is necessary our life to save. 

Clara. 

Charles, as we a lot of children watch, 

That on a playground they each other catch ; 

To those, that from their selfishness do part, 

Are the very ones that we give all our heart. 

The world is a playground and we are the children, 

And as we play we are watched. 

If, from the watcher we desire the heart, 

Then, from our selfishness we must part. 

Selfishness to man was by Nature given, 

Selfishness sacrificed rejoices heaven. 

Chas. In this case, Clara, selfishness observed rejoices heaven, 
because it communicates happiness, and wherever there is happiness 
there is heaven. 

Clara. That is when the happiness is not all on one side. 

Chas. Our happiness shall be mutual, for no man living can 
love you as I do. Clara, by virtue of your promise I claim your 
acceptance of my choice. Will you accept me as the husband I 
hare chosen for you, Clara? [Arnold and Bos. in f. 

Clara. Well, since you have taken me at so unfair a disad- 
vantage, Charles, I suppose I must choose the only alternative, and 
accept your choice. 

Chas. What! Clara my wife ! (Kisses her.) Oh, happiness! 
That place on the Ladder of Life, which all the world is striving for, 
I have reached ; the broken places are all passed, and the future is 
one long sunshine. [Bos. back l., Arn. at back r. 

Clara. Come, Charles, let us join our friends in the garden, and 
get aunt and uncle's opinion of our compact. 

[Exit Chas. and Clara, r. to r. 

Bos. (Looking after them. Arn. comes down stage and sits at 
table absorbed in thought.) I declah, if this cweture hasn't cut me 
out. (Comes down stage.) Sah, did you witness the performance? 

Arn. Eh? Performance? 

Bos. Yes, sah; this cweture Clifford's display of affection to my 
ClawiSh. 



THE LADDER OF LIEE. 17 

Arn. Your Clara? 

Bos. Yes, sah, my Clawah. [Buns to f. looks off r. 

Arn. Can there be another in the field? This gentleman does 
not seem to be overstocked with brains ; probably I may use him to 
advantage, at least I can cause him to appear ridiculous in her eyes, 
which will remove any affection she may have entertained for him. 

Bos. (Looking off r. in p.) Oh, I declah if he hasn't placed his 
vile mouth against her pwesious lips. (Comes down stage.) Oh, the 
howid beast ! 

Arn. (Rise.) Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Boswick? 

Bos. Yes, sah; I answer to the cognomen of Mr. Boswick, 
esquire. 

Arn. Excuse my omission of the title, sir. It was mere forget- 
fulness, not disrespect. 

Bos. You stand excused, sah ; pwoceed with your business, sah, 
and bwefly, sah, bwefly, for the pwesent state of my existence will 
not admit of any lengthy discourse. 

Arn. I have noticed that Clara's affections are transferred to 
this Clifford. 

Bos. No, sah, not twansferred ; stolen, sah, stolen. 

Arn. You may regain them again, sir. 

Bos. Only communicate to me the information, sah, and I 
wemain your humble servant. 

Arn. Well, sir ; you must first fight a duel. 

Bos. Duel! Weally, sah, weally. I — I — I — 

Arn. You need not fear, sir ; there is not the slightest danger of 
being injured — physically. 

Bos. Oh, I do not fear, sah, not for myself, sah; bu — but I 
may kill my adversary. 

Arn. No fear of that, sir. 

Bos. Explain yourself, sah ! 

Arn. Mr. Clifford may be a coward. 

Bos. Yes, sah; I'm all ears, — proceed, sah. 

Arn. If you should boldly challenge him to mortal combat, he 
would become so frightened as to leave the country in order to escape 
your vengeance ; then, Clara, witnessing his disgraceful flight and 
your gallant bearing, will, of course, renounce him and implore 
your forgiveness. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha ! Clevah, clevah ! I hasten to — (running up 
stage.) But, sah, I — if he'd accept my challenge? 

Arn. He dare not accept it, because the hrw strictly forbids 
duelling. 

Bos. Yah, ba, ha! Clevah! But, sah, if he'd disregard the law. 

Arn. Then he would not dare kill you, because he'd be hung for 
murder. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Clevah, clevah! I hasten to challenge him. 

[Exit f. to L. 

Arn. He is disposed of. But how to dispose of Clifford without 
disclosing the relationship. 



18 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Enter Clara, f. from r. 
Ah, Clara, I was thinking of you. 

Clara. Then you had very disagreeable thoughts, Mr. Arnold. 

Arn. No, they were most excellent. 

Clara. Then I shall not disturb them. 

Arn. Clara, I have noticed that your affections are bestowed on 
Mr. Clifford. 

Clara. Well. 

Arn. If there was no Mr. Clifford, who would you place your 
affections on? 

Clara. That is a very difficult question to answer. 

Arn. Do I occupy any place in your affections, Clara? 

Clara. Well, I esteem your friendship, Mr. Arnold ; but, to be 
candid, you do not hold any place whatever in my affections. 

Arn. That may be probably owing to Mr. Clifford's having in- 
sinuated himself so strongly there ; but, if Mr. Clifford was so situ- 
ated that it would be impossible for him to return your love, would 
there be any possible chance for me? 

Clara. Mr. Arnold, I heard it once remarked you said all wo- 
men were unthinking creatures, and, consequently, victims to their 
impressions. Now, you impress me very unfavorably. 

Arn. That claims me as the victim to your impressions. But, if 
I cannot obtain your affections, may I retain your friendship? 

Clara. On one condition. 

Arn. Name it. 

Clara. For my husband, as you are aware, I desire Mr. Charles 
Clifford; aunt objects to him; if you will use your influence to have 
those objections removed we may remain friends, if not, I fear we 
may be strangers. \_Exit f. to r. 

Arn. My only alternative is to aid this marriage of brother and 
sister. 
Enter Bos., f. from l. with two cavalry sabres and horse-pistols. 

Bos. Sah, where is the enemy? 

Arn. Ah ! I believe you will find him in the garden. 

Bos. I'll leave the weapons in your charge, sah {lays weapons on 
table), while I seek the enemy. \_Exit Bos., f. to r. 

Arn. He may desire me to become his second, and that would be 
;a very ridiculous position. I must avoid it. 

Enter Bos. and Chas., f. from r. 

Bos. Yes, sah, I have constituted you my mortal enemy. 

[Exit Arn., f. 

Chas. But, sir, I have never injured you. 

Bos. I demand wepawation, sah. 

Chas. Reparation! For what? 

Bos. For what, sah? Your audacity and pwetended ignorance 
won't save you, sah. No, sah, you must openly wenounce all your 
vulgar pwetensions to my Clawah, or, sah, you must die ! 

Chas. Oh, nonsense (walks away). 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 19 

Enter Prof., f. from r. Exit Chas., f. 

Bos. {Does not see Prof.) Then, sah, pwepare to die. {Turns 
to table and takes swords.) My awenging arms will never cease till 
your base, vulgar carcass lies slaughtered at my conquering feet. 
Here, sah; choose your weapon, sah (thrusts swords at Prof., who 
takes one), and defend your coward self from my — 

[Bos. discovers his mistake, drops sword. 

Prof. You confounded idiot ! (going at Bos. with raised sword ; 
Bos. turns and runs, Prof, after him). I'll teach you not to chal- 
lenge a polyologist again. [Bos. dodges around furniture, Prof. 
after him ; runs off r., across stage, and off l. ; then from l. to r. 
at back, outside f. 

Enter Bos., with clothing all torn, comes to front of stage and falls 
exhausted. Prof, places his foot on Bos., raises his sword. 
Prof. Victory ! 

Enter Miss Am., Arn., Clara, and Chas., f. from r., engaged in a 

very animated conversation. 
Ladies and gentlemen, here you see a scientific illustration of the 
Ladder of Life: the survival of the fittest. (Picks Bos. up.) 
Ah ! at last I have found it ; it is the long-sought- for missing link 
of the Darwinian chain of progression. My friends, the science of 
anthropology, from a polyological standard, teaches — 

Miss Am. Professor, Clara's choice of a husband — 

Prof. It is anthropological science I'm now discussing, not sexual 
science. 

Arn. Professor, you are aware that Clifford's character — 

Prof. That is moral science; the question before the house is 
anthropological science. 

Clara. Uncle, for a companion I desire Mr. Clifford. 

Prof. That is social science. Anthropology is — 

Miss Am. Professor, Clara and Clifford desire to become husband 
and wife. 

Prof. Confound the rascal ! (Clara places her arms about 
Chas. neck.) What! Confound you, sir, you've psychologized the 
girl ! Do you mean this, Clara? 

Clara. Uncle, you requested me to choose a husband ; — this is 
my choice. 

Prof. (Joins their hands.) There ! be happy and prosper. 
Curtain. 



ACT III. 

Scene 1. — Parlor same as Act II. Clara and Miss Am. 

discovered. 
Miss Am. Clara, your husband has proved himself to be a nobler 
gentleman than I anticipated. 



20 THE LADDER OP LIFE. 

Clara. Yes, aunt, he is very noble and kind. 
Miss Am. Kind is too feeble an expression ; it can be plainly seen 
that he actually worships you. 

Enter Prof, and Bos., f. from l. 

Prof. Confound the women ! I say. 

Miss Am. What foul wrong have the women committed that calls 
forth such an expression from a person who rejoices in the possession 
of a superior intellect? 

Prof. If the first law of nature hadn't been a primary consider- 
ation with me, they'd have poked my eyes out with their confounded 
parasols. Doesn't nature teach them man's superiority? 

Miss Am. Man's superiority ! What constitutes his superiority, — 
is it his whiskers? 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Isn't it, Pwofessah? 

Miss Am. They should remind him of his close resemblance to 
that bipedal quadruped called monkey. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha, ha ! Clevah, clevah ! 

Miss Am. And all some of the whiskered gentry require to com- 
plete the resemblance is a tail. 

Bos. Yah ! Clevah, clevah, Pwofessoh, clevah ! 

Prof. Then, Darwin surmised correctly. Therefore, all China- 
men must have originally been monkeys, for they still carry their 
tails. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha, ha! Clevah, clevah! 

Miss Am. The monkey would have his tail in its proper place. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha ! Professoh, clevah, clevah ! 

Prof. More proof of Darwin's sanity ; as the position of the tail 
generally proves the condition of the intellect. 

Clara. There are intellects without tails, uncle. Mr. Boswick 
has no tail. [Bos. turns around a few times trying to find his tail. 

Prof. Which proves that the possession of a tail is not abso- 
lutely necessary to the existence of the intellect, thereby corrobo- 
rating the Darwinistic theory. But as a polyologist, I have pre- 
sented myself expressly to witness your recent horticultural ex- 
ploits. 

Miss Am. If .you will accompany me to the garden, Professor, 
you may witness them. Clara, will you accompany us? 

Clara. I will remain here, aunt, until my husband comes. 

Prof. Boswick, come, and I'll instruct you in polyologized bot- 
any. 

Bos. No, Pwofessoh ; I'll wemain with Clawah. 

[Exit Prof, and Miss Am., f. to r. 

Clara. And study social astronomy. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha! Clevah, clevah! 

Clara. Do you study the stars much now, Mr. Boswick? 

Bos. I'm now studying the moon, Clawah. 

Clara. Socially? 

Bos. No, no ; astwonomically. And last night, as I was work- 
ing on the moon — By Jove, it was a splendid moon ! 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 21 

Clara. It was so very cloudy last night, I was not aware the 
moon was visible. 

Bos. Eh? wa — was it cloudy? Oh, yes; so it was. But it 
wasn't the weal moon, you know, it was only a weflection. 

Clara. Can the moon reflect through the clouds? 

Bos. I — I believe — oh, yes; because, you know, the clouds is 
a lot of steam all clubbed together, like any fellers would club. 
Now, ye know, steam is a lot of little crystal spheres all stuck 
together. Now, ye know, the moon, shining on all them little 
balls, will be weflected fwom one to the other, and when all them 
little weflections are bunched up together, it will be a big weflec- 
tion, and, of course, look like the moon, Clawah. 

Clara. Quite an illustration. 

Bos. Ain't it, though. Yah, ha, ha ! Clevah ! But, Clawah, if 
your husband was mawied to another feller's girl, and you was 
going tamawy another fellow, wo — would you mawy me? 

Clara. Uncle would be delighted to have you join him in the 
garden, Mr. Boswick. 

Bos. But, Clawah — 

Clara. You will oblige me, sir. 

Bos. I hasten to oblige you, Clawah. [Exit f. to r. 

Clara. This creature's words have actually distressed me. 

Enter Chas. and Arn., f. from l. 

Chas. What ! my dear angel all alone ! 

Clara. Charles! (Runs to Chas., receives a hiss.) Oh, I am 
so glad you've come ! 

Chas. Why, my dear, what is the matter? You are all in a 
flutter. Are you ill? 

Clara. No, Charles, it was only a momentary feebleness ; but it 
is all over now. 

Chas. Yes, my dear, now and forever. Let this face always 
wear a smile. Angels should never look serious. 

Clara. We cannot always smile, Charles, for there are times 
when evil forebodings will force themselves upon us, and create 
unpleasant thoughts. 

Chas. Resist them, as you would a venomed snake, for they are 
like black clouds sweeping over the clear sky of happiness. When 
the first black speck makes its appearance on the horizon, drive it 
back ; because, if permitted to advance, another will come, and 
another, and another, until that once bright sky will become one 
black mass of clouds. Clara, let us keep our sky of happiness 
always bright and clear ; and, as the bright shining sun dispels all 
black clouds, so will this bright face, when kept shining with radiant 
smiles, and our future be one long, uninterrupted series of joys. 
And when this dear head shall be silvered over with age, your chil- 
dren will around you gather, call you their dear angel mother, and 
impress upon those ruby lips the seal of love. (Kiss.) Oh, by 
the by, I forgot ! here is our very dear friend, Mr. Arnold. 

Clara. I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Arnold ; but, Charles, 



22 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

you and Mr. Arnold should be very hungry. If you will have a 
little patience, I shall serve you some refreshments. [JExit, f. to r. 

Chas. Mr. Arnold, be seated, please; consider yourself at home, 
and make yourself as comfortable as you wish. Here is the latest 
literature (gives book or paper), and here are the best Havanas I 
could procure ; but the ladies seriously object to my smoking in the 
house ; — I don't know how they would consider it in your case. 

Arn. I shall take it for granted that they would consider my 
smoking in the same light, and will defer the pleasure until — 

Chas. After refreshments, then we both can enjoy the luxury in 
the garden. 

Arn. Yes, that will be excellent. I presume, Mr. Clifford, you 
must be very happy? 

Chas. Yes, very happy. The presence of so divine an angel as 
I possess, would create a sunshine of happiness to the most un- 
happy. If all those dear angels that walk our earth only knew 
what portion of the world's happiness they held in their hands, I 
don't think they would abuse it, do you? 

Arn. I never say anything against the fair sex. A man's inter- 
ests are not advanced any by finding fault with that which does 
not affect him personally. But, has the Professor made you 
familiar with your wife's origin ? 

Chas. No ; I've been so wrapped in the present, that I never 
gave the past a thought ; besides, I have no desire to know the past, 
be it agreeable or disagreeable. There are a good many people in 
this world who might lead a very happy life, if they would only let 
the past be past. 

Arn. I have received very important information recently, 
which, if I did not communicate, I should consider myself a crim- 
inal for life. 

Chas. A criminal for life ! "Why, my dear sir, that would be a 
very disagreeable consideration. I should advise you to communi- 
cate it. 

Arn. I fear it may interfere with your happiness. 

Chas. Then dispel your fears, sir. You cannot communicate 
anything that will in the least affect my happiness, because it is so 
firmly established, that I believe it would be impossible to affect it. 

Arn. But, sir, I fear it may. 

Chas. Nonsense ! Why, sir, I have never injured a soul in the 
whole course of my life, therefore I cannot be affected ; and as for 
my wife, why, sir, she is an angel, and above every suspicion, con- 
sequently she cannot be affected. So, proceed ; what have you dis- 
covered? 

Arn. That the lady you call your wife is — 

Chas. Well, the lady I call my wife is — 

Arn. Your sister. 

Chas. My sister ! If you are insane, sir, oblige me with another 
specimen of your insanity. 

Arn. I was never more sane in my life. 

Chas. Such an expression from a sane man is an insult. Arnold, 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 23 

to me Clara is all perfection. She is the idoFwhich I worship ; and 
to satisfy her slightest wish, I would willingly lay down my life. 
Now, sir, consider how I must feel towards the man who dares offer 
the slightest insult. 

Arn. But, sir, I have not insulted her. 

Chas. To call rny wife my sister is a foul insult. By heaven, 
he who insults my wife shall not go unpunished ! 

Arn. Be calm, sir ; I meant no offence ; but I am fully prepared 
to prove that your wife is your sister. 

Chas. You lie ! (Slaps Ann. across the face.) 

Arn. Ah, a blow ! Sir, I demand — 

Enter Clara, f. from r. 

Clara. Eefreshments are all ready. Come, Charles. Mr. Arn- 
old, will you honor us? Why, what is the matter? Mr. Arnold, 
what have you been doing with my husband? 

Arn. Not anything. I was simply remarking what an excellent 
plot the earliest portion of your life would furnish to write a novel 
from. Your husband, I believe, has never heard it. I think it 
would interest him. 

Clara. I didn't intend to tell you all my history, Charles, until 
my birthday, because it was on my birthday that I was told ; but to 
please you I will tell it now. Several years ago, when I was a little 
baby, uncle rescued me and my brother. I never told you I had a 
brother ; but I had, for uncle saved us both from a wrecked ship 
called the "Argus." He took charge of me himself, and gave my 
brother to a Mr. Revere, and placed on him a small medal, with the 
word " Argus " on it. 

Chas. Ah, my God! what do I hear? 

Clara. Charles! What ails you? Why do you shake so? Are 
you ill? Mr. Arnold, see to my husband, while I get something to 
revive him. [Runs off r. 

Chas. Oh, we were so happy ! Our life was one bright sunshine ; 
to me all nature smiled. But now — Oh ! a black and fearful cloud 
over our life now hangs, and the future is a hopeless, gloomy deso- 
lation. Oh, death were better ! 

Arn. Now, sir, you see how you have wronged me. 

Chas. Oh, sir, do forgive me ! On my knees I humbly beg your 
pardon. 

Enter Clara, r. 

Oh, sir, for heaven's sake, do not speak a word of this to Clara ! 
. Clara. What does this mean? 
Chas. Oh, question me not; I shall go mad! 
Clara. Mr. Arnold, what does this mean? 
Arn. Well, you see, Clara, he is — 

(Chas. places hand over Arn.'s mouth. 
Chas. Tell it not. 
Clara. I will hear it. 
Chas. Oh, no, no, Clara ; you must not hear it. 



24 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Clara. By what right do you keep this from me? Eohert Arn- 
old, I demand an explanation. 

Arn. Well, Clara, your husband — 

Chas. Silence ! Let your lips ever dare breathe one word of this 
to a living soul, and, though mountains, forests, and seas should lie 
between us, I'll face them all to find you, and I'll silence you for- 
ever ! 

Clara. Robert Arnold, again I say I demand it. 

Arn. Well, Clara — 

Chas. Silence ! Sir, I command you to leave this house ! Go ! 
{Tableau. Charles, c, pointing p. Arn., n., front facing Chas. 

Clara l., front facing Chas.) 

Scene 2. — Garden. 
Enter Arts., l., hat in hand, walking very fast, and looking to 

rear. 

Arn. For this insult I will make him — No, no ; I must not give 
way to passion ; I must be guided by reason, not instinct. There 
is no occurrence in life that a cool, calculating brain may not work 
to its advantage. Now, how can I work this to my advantage? 
Can it be possible that he desires to retain Clara as his wife? 

Bos. {Outside.) Yah, ha, ha! Clevah, clevah! 

Arn. Ah! Nature has never made anything in vain. All things 
were created for some definite purpose, — and this silly creature 
was created for my purpose. 

Enter Bos., r., with garden plant. 

Bos. Yah, ha! Mr. Arnold, the Pwofessoh twies to persuade 
me that I'm Darwin's missing link ; and he calls this shwub a — a 
— ah ! — a gweat long name with twenty syllables, and each syllable 
is a different language. Yah, ha ! 

Arn. Ah, yes ; I am aware of the Professor's fondness to display 
his peculiar nomenclature. 

Bos. His what? I weckon, Arnold, you've been studying poly- 
ology, ain't you? 

Arn. Some — not much. But what time does Mr. Clifford gen- 
erally go to his place of business? 

Bos. About twee o'clock. 

Arn. Three o'clock? 

Bos. Yes, sah ; but I must go and give Clawah some lessons in 
botany. I've been twying to instwuct her in astwonomy ; but she 
don't like astwonomy, it's too scientific for a woman's bwain, so I'll 
twy botany. [Exit l. 

Enter Prof, and Miss Am., r., Prof, with garden-pot with plant. 

Prof. Yes, this is an exotosized, pereniated, and unceferated 
diminutive specimen of myristica moschata, indigenous to those 
regions in which the atmospherical — Ah, Arnold ! just accompany 
us into the house, and — 

Arn. No, no, Professor; I shall never enter that house while 
that rascal, Clifford, remains there, — he has most basely insulted 
me. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 25 

Miss Am. Insulted you ! For what? 

Arn. "Well, I — I had just accidentally formed the acquaintance 
of his former wife, and he, fearing an exposure, rudely ejected 
me. 

Prof. Robert Arnold, are you mad? 

Clara. {Outside.) Oh dear! Oh dear! 

Enter Clara, l. 
Oh aunt ! uncle ! my husband has gone madj Mr. Arnold, what 
have you done to my husband? 

Arn. I am very sorry to speak ill of your husband, Clara ; but 
my anxiety for your happiness compels me to expose him. 

Clara. Expose my husband ! 

Miss Am. Arnold says your husband has another wife, Clara. 

Clara. Another wife? Oh, no, no, no! he is too honest for 
that. 

Arn. An honest man fears no exposure. 

Prof. Arnold, explain yourself. 

Arn. For several days past I have seen him promenading with a 
lady on his arm. At first I paid no attention to it r thinking, prob- 
ably, it was only a friend ; but yesterday I overheard him call her 
his dear wife ; and, desiring further information, I called on the lady, 
when I was informed that she was his lawful wife. So, to-day, I 
notified him that if he persisted in retaining the companionship of 
his former wife I would expose him. Then he fell upon his knees 
and begged of me not to speak a word of it to Clara. 

Clara. Yes, I saw him on his knees, and heard him say those 
words. 

Arn. And, as I was about to expose him, he placed his hand over 
my mouth — 

Clara. Yes, he did. 

Arn. And threatened to kill me if I dare breathe a word. You 
saw all this yourself, Clara? 

Clara. I did, I did. 

Prof. Arnold, you must accuse Clifford of this in my presence. 

Miss Am. No, no, Professor ; if he is the character Mr. Arnold 
represents him to be, he will deny every word, and will take meas- 
ures to remove all evidence. We must have proof of his perfidy 
without his knowledge. Besides, I see no reason to doubt Mr. Arnold ; 
he cannot gain anything by it, and all gentlemen are above either 
prejudice or animosity. 

Prof. Can you give me ocular demonstration of this, Arnold? 

Arn. I believe he is to meet her about three o'clock to-day; 
but if I have been the means of any disagreeable annoyance, through 
my anxiety for your happiness, I ask pardon ; and as it is very pain- 
ful to me, I desire to be excused from all future connection with it, 
as I have very important business to-day which cannot be post- 
poned. You must excuse me. [Exit r„ 

Miss Am. Come, dear, don't weep. If this is true, it is only the 
loss of a man ; the world is full of men ready to kneel to any lady who 
condescends to smile on them. [Exit l. with Clara and Prof. 



26 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Scene 3. — Room, very plain, table, c, with lamp and small tin 
teapot attached. Sewing-machine near table. Jenny discov- 
ered seated at sewing-machine in operation. 
Jen. (Song.) How very pleasant labor is when you have some 

one to love you. I believe love is the noblest attribute of man. 

How very unpleasant this world would be without it. (Knock at door. ) 

Come in. 

Enter Akn. through small door in f. 

Robert! (Rises and goes to Arn.) 

Arn. Well, Jenny, I suppose you thought I had forgotten you? 

Jen. I fear you may one of those days. 

Arn. That day will never come, Jenny ; I love you too much for 
that ; but, Jenny, I fear that my affections for you are not recip- 
rocated. 

Jen. Why, Robert, those words wrong me very much. I don't 
deserve such treatment. 

Arn. Forgive my doubts, Jenny ; but my affection for you is so 
strong that I almost feared you might be dissembling. 

Jen. Robert ! 

Arn. Jenny, I am going to relieve myself of those doubts by 
testing your love. I have engaged in a very important transaction 
which requires the assistance of a lady, and it is of so very delicate 
a nature, that I fear love could not stand the test unless it was gen- 
uine. Jenny, can your love stand a slight test which will advance 
my interests? 

Jen. Any assistance I can render, that is not in opposition to 
morality or my character as a lady, you may command. 

Arn. We have in our club a very bashful young man, so one 
gentleman bet quite a large amount that he dare not look a lady 
straight in the face. Then, I very foolishly bet all I possessed that 
he would walk the street with his arm about a lady's waist. Now, 
if that young man don't walk the street with his arm around a lady 
I am a beggar. Jenny, will you assist me in this? 

Jen. Oh Robert ! this is very unfair of you to request so unlady- 
like a performance from me ; besides, as he is so very bashful I 
should be obliged to ask him place his arm about me. 

Arn. No ; you can pretend to be unwell. 

Jen I cannot do this. Robert, a poor girl like me has only her 
character to recommend her to the world; and, when it becomes 
tainted with the least suspicion, it is gone never to return. 

Arn. Then your love to me will not bear a simple test? 

Jen. Yes, Robert, any test that is honorable — but this — Oh, no, 
no ! 

Arn. What is there so very immoral in having the arm of a young 
man of unquestionable character about a lady's waist? Jenny, the 
love that will not bear so simple a test is a heartless dissembling. 
All I possess is at stake ; my whole future life depends upon this ; 
into your hands I've placed myself; at your disposal is my future 
happiness or misery ; it is your love that can save me from falling 
into beggary and degradation ; but you will calmly see me fall, and, 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 27 

perhaps, laugh at my folly. Is that love? Well, if it is, then for- 
ever farewell. 

Jen. No, no, Robert, I will save you. Where shall I see this 
young man? 

Arn. When you are ready I will direct you. 

Jen. {Puts on hat and shawl.) I am ready; lead the way. 
Tableau. 

Scene 4. — Street. 
Enter Clara, l. 

Clara. Oh, if this should be so, it will break my heart ! Why 
should he be so cruel to me, — to me that loved him so much ! Oh, 
can it be possible that he is so great a monster! Oh, no, no, no! 
I will not believe this. I'll go back home again. {Going l.) Ha! 
Am I dreaming? Oh, that it was a dream, and not a reality which 
I now see ! My husband it is ! Oh, how eagerly he clasps her to 
his bosom ! How affectionately she looks upon him ; and he — Yes, 
he returns that look ! merciful Heaven, support me ! {Retires 
back.) 

Enter Chas. and Jenny, l. Chas. supporting Jenny. 

Chas. Do you feel any better, now? 

Jen. Yes, sir, thank you. Oh, sir, I thank you very much ; you 
are very kind, sir. 

Chas. Are you subject to those — annoyances? 

Jen. No, sir ; this is the first — and the last. 

Chas. I am very glad to see you so confident. I presume you 
have a medicine that is sure? 

Jen. Yes, sir ; my determination. 

Chas. Very good ; the imagination has a wonderful effect upon 
diseases. 

Jen. Oh, sir, do forgive me ; I fear I may injure you. 

Chas. You do not injure me any; I am but too happy for the 
privilege of performing an act of kindness to any one ; but if you 
will give me your destination I shall be very happy to escort you 
there. 

Jen. Thank you, sir, thank you ; I'm only going a little farther. 
But do forgive me. [Exit Chas. and Jenny, r. 

Clara. Oh, monster ! Ungrateful dissembler ! You have pierced 
your serpent fangs deep into my heart. O merciful Heaven, for- 
give me for ever taking so vile a wretch to my bosom ! And now, 
from out my heart I tear every thought of him, and in the place of 
love I now place hate, and with that hate upon my breath, I now do 
curse him ! {Staggers and falls into Prof, arms, who has entered 
just in time to receive her.) 

Prof. Oh, my poor, dear, heart-broken child! Oh, base, heart- 
less fiend, for every pang you have caused this dear, innocent 
heart I'll make you suffer threefold. Heaven bless you, dear ! 
heaven bless you ! Come, dear, come to our home, and may that 
Great Power which rules over all nature guard and protect you 
from all future misery. Exit Prof, and Clara, l. 



28 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Enter Arn. , l. 
Ark. My plot is working admirably, but rather painful. I almost 
believe myself to be a villain. My conscience begins to question 
me, but I have gone too far to retract; I must go on. One lie re- 
quires another to sustain it, until it becomes one mass of lies. In 
nature nothing succeeds but at the expense of some other thing. 
Now, I am but a result of nature, only ; and am therefore governed 
by nature. It is a natural law that I do all in my power to become 
happy and successful; then, if my happiness be another's unhap- 
piness, why, it isn't my fault, it is the fault of nature ; therefore, 
conscience lie still. [Exit r. 

Scene 5. — Parlor, same as Scene 1. Clara discovered reclining 

on sofa. Enter Miss Am. in street dress. Doffs them. 

Miss Am. Are you any better, Clara? 

Clara. Yes, aunt, thanks to your care, I am quite well. If I 
had always observed your instructions how much happier I should 
now be. 

Miss Am. Disobedience is always accompanied by unhappiness ; 
disobedience is the crime performed ; unhappiness is the punish- 
ment inflicted. There is now a very painful duty to be imposed on 
you, Clara. It was you who introduced this man Clifford into our 
happy home ; he must not remain here any longer, and it is you, 
Clara, who must eject him. Are you strong enough to perform 
this? 

Clara. Oh, when I glance at the past, I almost forget the 
present ; he was so noble, generous, and kind ! 

Miss Am. Forget the past and think only of the future. The 
attorney will be here presently with all the necessary documents 
to sever your connection with this man. You will request him to 
attach his signature to them. 

Enter Prof, and Attorney, f. from l. 

Are the papers ready? 

Prof. All that is required to complete them are the signatures. 

Miss Am. Clara, you will take your stand at this table, obtain 
his signature to all the documents, and then command him to leave 
your presence forever. 

Clara. Oh, aunt, I cannot do this ! 

Miss Am. Clara, remember that this false creature was by you 
snatched from a beggar's grave, and through a long illness care- 
fully nurtured. To his happiness you have devoted your life. What 
has he given in return? False smiles, base, flattering words, and a 
broken heart. 

Clara. Oh ! 

Miss Am. To his other wife, as you have seen, he gives his real 
smiles, his whole heart and love. 

Clara. Oh, aunt ! 

Miss Am. To you he dissembles ; andfor the love of his other 
wife how easily he sacrifices you. 

Clara. Say no more, aunt. (Rises') He shall go back again to 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 29 

that cold, merciless world from which I took him. Uncle, inform 
Mr. Clifford I command his presence. {Exit Prof., f. to l. 

Miss Am. Mr. Attorney, what are your papers to be signed? 

Attorney. {At table.) This paper, on receiving the husband's 
signature, with witnesses, will be a sufficient instrument to dissolve 
all matrimonial connection that heretofore existed between them. 

Enter Prof, and Chas., v. from l. 

Miss Am. Clara, Mr. Clifford is present. I request you to be as 
brief and expeditious as possible. 

Clara. {At table, l. c.) Mr. Clifford, here is a document which 
awaits your signature ; it severs the bond which unites you and I. 
Sign. {Chas. signs.) Oh, how eagerly he signs it! If he did but 
refuse, I — I might forgive him ; but now, the last spark of love I 
held for him he has signed it away forever. Are there any more 
documents to be signed? 

Attorney. Yes, here is one on which the husband's signing 
transfers to the wife all property he has accumulated through her 
instrumentality. 

Clara. Mr. Clifford — sign. 

Chas. Clara! 

Clara. Sign. {Chas. signs.) 

Prof. Many a man would willingly sign away his wife ; but I 
never saw a man sign away his property so easy. There is some- 
thing mysterious about this. Charles Clifford, I ask for an expla- 
nation of your recent conduct; but remember, a lie will not advance 
you the slightest, and a true statement will make your position no 
worse. 

Chas. O-h! 

Prof. AVill you give an explanation? 

Chas. Oh, I cannot! 

Prof. Are you guilty of an attachment to any other woman? 

Chas. Guilty? "Other woman? O-h! believe me guilty of 
anything, but do not question me ! 

Miss Am. Conclusive evidence of guilt. Honesty fears no ques- 
tioning. Clara, proceed with your business. 

Clara. Mr. Clifford, here is a piece of wood which you appeared 
very anxious to preserve. I have taken good care of it. Here, 
take it again. (Chas. takes piece of stick from Clara.) 

Chas. Fred ! dear, noble friend, I had forgotten you ! In pros- 
perity we forget old friends. Oh, how I long to see your kind face 
again, and clasp your honest hand once more ! 

Clara. Sir, this valise is your original property ; within it are 
the garments that you wore when first I saw you. Oh, how I 
loved those rags ! I thought they once encased a noble heart. But 
they are yours, sir; take them (Chas. takes valise), and from my 
presence forever — go! {Points f. Picture.) 

.Chas. Clara, Clara, whatever wrong you may think I have done, 
I pray of you not to hate me, for with my whole soul I love you ! 

Miss Am. Then, .show your love by obeying. Go ! 

[Chas. in f. Clara falls. 



30 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Chas. No, no, Clara. lam — [Runs to. Clara. 

Prof. No longer her husband ! Go ! 

[Prof, standing in front of Chas. and pointing to f. 
Chas. (In, f.) May heaven bless you ! 

TABLE A U. 

Curtain. 



ACT IV. 



Scene. — Street, same as Scene 3, Act I. Snow falling ', street-lamp 
with flame. 

Enter Police, l., bach, and stands under lamp. 
Police. Ugh ! disagreeable weather. 

Enter Mike, r. Very small bundle suspended from stick over 
shoulder. 

Police. Say, my man, where are you travelling to? 

Mike. Eh? Is it to myself your sphaking, sir? 

Police. I am. Where is your destination? 

Mike. I haven't any, sir. I have nothing only the few duds I 
brought wid me. 

Police. You don't understand me, I see. 

Mike. I suppose I don't, sir ; my poor head has got so bothered 
ihat I don't undherstand myself fwhat I'm goin' to sphake until I 
sphake it ; becase ye know, sir, that a man in Ireland and a man in 
America is two different men. 

Police. I want to know ! 

Mike. Ar'nt I goin' to tell ye, sir. 

Police. Well, tell me, what is the difference? 

Mike. Well, sir, the difference 'twixt an Irish Irishman and a 
Yankee Irishman is moighty big, sir, moighty big ; becase you see, 
•sir, if the man in Ireland had only two praties, and he knowed you 
was hungry, he'd never tasht a bite till he'd give ye one of them ; 
and if ye didn't take it, upon my soul, sir, he moight get mad 
enough to give the shellaleh. But if a man in this country had two 
praties, and he knowed you was hungry — 

Police. I suppose he wouldn't give you any. 

Mike. Oh, sir, he wouldn't be as hard-hearted as that ; he'd give 
ye some, but it would only be the shkin ; - becase, ye see, sir, there 
is a shmall dhrop of Ireland in every Irishman that he can't get 
away from, and the harder he thrys to get away from it the harder 
it shticks to him; and ye see, sir, Ireland's part of him would be 
wanting to give ye the shkin, but the other part of him would be 
shivering fraid ye moight take it. 

Police. Ha, ha, ha ! But aint you a little selfish yourself? 

Mike. Fwhat? Pwhat kind of a little fish did ye say I was 
myself? 

Police. A little selfish. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 31 

Mike. A little shelfish ! Ye omadhaun, ye ; bad cess to ye, I'm 
as big as yourself, and if ye don't believe me, ye can thry ; and I 
am no fish, and I have no shell upon me. 

Police {Going r.) Ha, ha, ha! Then you are not a shell- 
back? Ha, ha, ha! [Exit*. 

Mike. Yes, they are all aloike ; nobody cares for anybody only 
hisself. Well, I'll resht meself awhile here ; me thramping all 
day has wore the bottoms of me feet out. (Sits down under lamp.) 

Enter Arn. , l. % 

Arn. So far all works well ; my plot succeeds beyond every ex- 
pectation. I now hold within my grasp that which all the world is 
striving for, — riches, which is happiness ; for in riches only can 
happiness be found. This universal race for it proves there is no 
happiness in poverty. Honest poverty no crime. Hem ! I presume, 
the parties who originated that saying had not the ability to become 
either rich or dishonest, — for successful dishonesty requires superior 
ability; and the poor fool who leaves the honest paths of life to be- 
come dishonest, and when, through lack of ability he fails, and is 
compelled to return again to his honest plodding, why, then, he will 
say that honest poverty is no crime. Anybody can be honest ; and 
the extreme respect which riches command proves poverty to be a 
social crime of the first magnitude. Then, by becoming rich, I 
avoid a crime. [Going r., stumbles over Mike. 

Mike. Bad cess to your legs, are ye thrying to walk upon me? 

Arn. I did not see you, sir. 

Mike. And am I so shmall that I can't be seen? 

Arn. Ah ! This Irishman may be of service to me. Are you 
seeking employment, sir? 

Mike. Am I fwhat? 

Arn. Don't you want a job? 

Mike. Faith, then, I do, sir, if I only get paid for it; but I've 
had so many jobs without any pay that I almost don't want any job? 

Arn. You shall be paid, sir. What is your special business? 

Mike. My fwhat? 

Arn. What can you do the easiest and the best? 

Mike. Aiting, dhrinking, and shleeping, to be coorse. 

Arn. No, no, no ! What have you been working at? 

Mike. Oh, I see now fwhat you mane. I have been thrying to 
see if I could find any news of two childer that corned over a great 
many years ago in a ship that was drownded fwhich they called 
the "Argus." 

Arn. What? The name of that ship you say was — 

Mike. The "Argus," sir. 

Arn. The " Argus " ! Why, that's the name of the ship that Clif- 
ford and Clara were rescued from ! Say, my friend, was there a 
Captain Harold on that ship? 

Mike. Faith, then, there was, sir, — him and his wife and two 
shmall childer. 

Arn. Yes, brother and sister. 

Mike. Indeed they warn't, sir ; they wor no relation. But I 



62 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

heared me uncle say that he heared me father say that the captain 
shwore a moighty big oath that fwhen they would be big they 
musht marry each other. 

Arn. How do you know they were not brother and sister? 

Mike. Becase my father tould my uncle. You see, sir, my uncle 
was my father after my father was drownded. 

Arn. Yes, yes, I know! But tell me all you know of the 
children. 

Mike. Well, sir, Captain Harold and Leftenant Ambrey wor 
sghool byes together, and fwhen they growed up to be men they both 
lishted in the army, only they wor leftenants when they lishted; 
and afther a fwhile Leftenant Ambrey got married to a purty girl 
that gave him a son, and the delicate crature died fwhen the boy 
was born ; and the leftenant took it so much to heart that he died 
hisself in a shmall while afther ; and then Captain Harold took the 
bye hisself to be brought up as his own, because the captain was 
married all this time and didn't have any childer of his own. But 
afther a little fwhile the captain had a daughter, — no, I mane the 
captain's wife had the daughter, — and then she tazed the captain so 
hard to lave the army that he got mad and laved it, and he was com- 
ing to America when the ship got wraked, and they all got drownded 
only the two childer. 

Arn. How do you know this ? 

Mike. Becase my father was a corporal in the same regiment, 
and he lugged my father along wid him fwhen he left the army, be- 
case my father used to take care of him. 

Arn. This information must not go any farther. How do you 
know the children were not lost? 

Mike. Becase we heered in Ireland, sir, that a crazy school- 
mashter shtole them from the ship fwhen the ship was drownding, 
and they shwam to the dhry land along wid him, and he gave the 
boy to a Mr. Revere, and nobody knows fwhat he done wid the girl. 

Arn. This Irishman must be disposed of. Sir, you are now in my 
employ ; just step over there {points l.) and await my coming, but 
don't speak a word to anybody. 

Mike. Indeed I 'ont, sir; I'll grab a tight hould of each jaw, and 
then I can't shpake. \_Exit l. 

Arn. How very strange that this fellow should come direct to me. 
If I was superstitious I'd say that there was some invisible hand 
directing this plot. 

Enter Jen., l. 

Jen. O-h ! how this sharp, cold air mercilessly pierces through 
my whole body ! I am now between two dreadful extremities placed : 
on one side, and behind me, is that dreadful gulf of starvation upon 
whose brink I now do stand; on the other side, and in front of 
me, is a horrid, yawning chasm, anxiously and eagerly stretching 
forth its jaws to clasp me : 'tis a life of sin and shame. I can neither 
advance- nor retreat, — I must choose between them; but which, oh 
which? Life is precious although it be miserable, for, if once lost, 
it can never be found again ; but to hold it at so great a sacrifice ! 
O-h! {Kneels) O just and merciful Heaven! into thy hands 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 66 

I place myself; upon thy mercy I now do call; direct to me some 
kind friend that will assist me by those dreadful extremities ! 

Arn. Jenny, Heaven has answered your prayer. I am that 
friend ! 

Jen. Robert Arnold ! No, no, you are not the friend ! You were 
sent to tempt me into that gulf of sin and shame. No, Robert 
Arnold, I refuse, and I now choose the other gulf of starvation ; 
though I lose my body, yet I'll save my soul. Leave me ! Go ! 

Arn. Oh ! very well ; but remember, a rational being will keep 
body and soul together at any sacrifice, because when they are to- 
gether we know where they are, but when they are apart we don't 
know where they are. {Retires hack.) 

Enter Police, r., back. 

Police. Helloa, Arnold, how goes everything? (Shakes hands.) 

Arn. Quite well, thank you. I was about to request a favor of 
you. 

Police. Well, I may grant your request, provided there be some- 
thing more substantial than acquaintance-sake to back it. 

Arn. That will be all right. You see that girl there? 

Police. I do. 

Arn. If she is not taken care of she will either freeze or starve 
to death. 

Police. Why should you care? 

Arn. Well, she has been quite an intimate friend of mine, but 
through some mistake she has become very angry with me, and 
refuses to accept my assistance. Now, if you will exert your influ- 
ence to have her confined within some asylum, — or even a prison 
would be preferable to have her starve in the street, — I will make 
it all right. 

Police. That's what I call generosity. I'll do it. Come, let us 
clinch the bargain, and we will organize ourselves into a committee 
of two to raise the fallen. Ha, ha, ha ! [Exit r. 

Enter Charles, r. 

Chas. Yes, 'tis here where we are to meet. I remember it well, 
for it was here, one year ago to-day, from the lowest step of this 
Ladder of Life, I started on my way up to happiness ; and I reached 
it. Oh, I was so happy ! But 'tis gone, and I am again on the 
lowest step ; but this time I am on my way down to despair, for no 
angel hands guide me now. Fred, Fred ! Your parting words 
still ring in my years, to beware of the broken places on the Ladder 
of Life ; for without assistance no one can pass them. Poor fel- 
low ! 1 hope he has not met any broken places, for I cannot assist 
him, as food has not crossed my lips since I left happiness. 

Jen. Sir, please, sir, I am starving ! Oh, sir, if you ever had a 
sister, imagine her in my condition, and what you would do for her ! 
I now implore you do the same for me. One little kind act will not 
injure your body any, sir, and it may advance your soul. 

Chas. O-h ! I have not anything to give, for I am starving 
myself; but if you will wait a few moments, I have a friend who 



34 THE LADDER OP LIFE. 

promised, one year ago, to meet me here this day, and he will give 
you something, but do not mention my sister. May Heaven guard 
and prevent her ever being reduced to your condition ! 

Jen. Oh ! sir, you must be a very kind brother ! I had a brother 
once, a smiling, rosy little boy, who was left at our house and 
adopted by us. He was my constant companion and playmate. 
Oh, how he did love me ! and how I did love to tease him, because 
he would get angry and squeeze me in his arms, and kiss me ever 
so many times. But one day mother died, and father gave me to an 
aunt. My little playmate came to me, and, placing his arms about 
me, kissed me very fondly, and said, "Jenny, I am now going 
away ; this kiss I now give you I want you to keep for me, for 
when I am a big man I'll come back again and claim that kiss." 
Then around my neck he placed this medal. 

Chas. Jenny ! Jenny ! that kiss I now do claim. 

Jen. You are — 

Chas. Your playmate, Charles Clifford! 

Jen. Heaven has answered my prayer! Charles! (Embrace.) 

Chas. Oh, my poor little Jenny ! what has reduced you to this 
condition? 

Jen. 'Tis a sad, sad story, Charles ! My life has been one series 
of misfortunes. 

Chas. It shall be so no longer, Jenny, for when Fred comes I 
will place you in his charge, if he is in good circumstances ; but if 
he is not, then we will make you our queen, and together we will 
labor to make your future one long sunshine. 

Jen. Oh, Charles, you have created for me a heaven on earth ! 
But are you sure your friend will come? 

Chas. Fred would swim seas to keep his word. And so you have 
preserved this medal all these years? 

Jen. Yes, I have guarded it well ; but now that I have found you, 
Charles, let me place it on you again. [Places medal on Chas. 

Chas. How very cold you are ! 

Jen. I was cold, but I am not now ; I am very warm and very 
sleepy (displays drowsiness). 

Chas. Heaven! you are freezing to death! (Doffs coat.) 
Here, let me place this about you. 

Jen. (Pushes coat aside.) No, no ! you are cold yourself, Charles ; 
I am warm enough here (nestles closely to Chas.). When your 
friend comes wake me, if I'm asleep, Charles. 

Chas. Jenny ! Jenny ! don't close your eyes ; you may never open 
them again ! Oh, Fred, Fred ! why don't you come ! Jenny ! Jenny ! 
wake up ! 

Enter Police, r. back. 

Jen. Oh, Charles, don't shake me so ! 

Chas. (Rubbing syiow to Jenny.) Oh, Fred, Fred ! why don't you 
come ! 

Police. What are you doing with that girl? 

Chas. Oh, sir, she is freezing! 

Police. I'll take charge of her. 

Chas. Thank you, sir, thank you ! 



THE LADDER OP LIFE. 35 

Police. Come, come, young woman, wake up here ! 

Jen. Yes; has your friend come? 

Police. Yes. Come with me. 

Jen. Ah! Go with you? 

Chas. Yes, Jenny, go. I will accompany you. 

Police. You will, will you? Now, you just accompany yourself 
the other way {points r.). Young woman, you come with me. 

Jen. Oh, sir, please do not part us ! 

Police. Come, come ! [Going to l. 

Jen. ( With hands stretched out towards Chas.) Charles ! 

■Chas. Mr. Officer, upon my knees, I beg of you not to part us. 

Police. {Motions to strike Chas.) Get out of my way! (To 
Jenny.) Come, come along here ! 

Jen. (Struggling.) No, no, I will not go ! (Escapes and goes to 
Chas.) Charles, save me! 

Police. By the eternal, you must come, if I have to tear every 
limb in your body ! (Forcing her from Chas.) Beggar, let her go ! 

Chas. Oh, sir, please don't use her rough ! 

Police. Get out! (Slaps Chas. across the face.) Come, come, 
you cursed — 

Chas. Let her go, I say ! 

Police. What ! Miserable wretch, take that ! 

\_Strikes Chas. with club. 

Jen. Ah ! My God, you have killed him ! 

Police. Come, come, you she-devil. 

Jen. No, no, I will not go ! Charles ! Charles ! Help, help ! 

Police. Damn you (strikes Jen. with club), will that tame you? 

Jen. Ugh! [Totters. 

Chas. Ah ! Monster (strikes Police, who falls), will that tame 
you? (Chas. goes to r. with Jen.) Courage, Jenny! Fear not; 
I'll protect you. All human brutes are only cowards when faced 
with determination. 

Police. Give up that girl. 

Chas. Come and take her. 

Enter Arn., r. back. 

Police. Fool ! I don't want to kill you ; but don't you know 
that when you defy me, it is the law and full power of all society 
you are defying? 

Chas. I am desperate, and desperation knows no law nor fears no 
society ! 

Police. That girl I will have ! 

Chas. Then it must be over my dead body ! 

Police. Over your dead body be it then. [Rushes at Chas. with 
upraised club ; they struggle; Police hand on Chas.' throat. 

Chas. (Suffocating.) O God ! 

Police. Now, dog ! [ With raised club. Jen. seizes descending 
club. Jen., Police, and Chas. struggle, 

Jen. Help, help, help ! [ Wrenches club from Police, and stands 
r. back. Chas. and Police struggle to l. 

Police. Help, help, help ! Arnold, in the name of the State I 



36 THE LADDER OP LIFE. 

command your assistance. [Arn. comes down l., raises hand to 
strike Chas. Jen. rushes to l., strikes Arn. with club ; Arn. falls ; 
Jen. drops club, and stands in an attitude of horror. 

Jen. Oh, what have I done ! [Chas. throws Police, picks up 
club, and goes r. 

Chas. Now, I am armed. 

Police. And so am I. {Draws pistol.} Miserable wretch! 
(Jen. runs to r., between Police and Chas.) Take that. [Dis- 
charges pistol. Jen. screams and falls r. 

Chas. Ah, killed! [Police throws Chas. to l. Police rushing 
on Chas. from l. to r. Arn. with raised knife rushing on Chas. 
from l. to r. ; as they meet at Chas. he dodges and Police receives 
Arn.'s knife and falls Tableau, Chas. r., Jen. lying on stage 
at his feet, Arn. l., Police lying on stage at his feet. 

Chas. Jenny ! Jenny ! speak to me ; oh, speak to me ! 

Arn. I have killed the wrong man ! 

Enter Fred., r., back. Enter Police No. 2, l., back. 

Police No. 2. Sir, did you fire that shot? 

Pred. No, sir ; I did not. 

Chas. Ah, she moves ! She lives ! She lives ! 

Fred. Charles ! Charles ! 

Chas. Pred! 

Arn. Arrest that man! {Points to Chas.) I accuse him of this 
foul murder! [Tableau. Arn. and Police 1, l. Police 2, c, 
back. Chas., Pred., Jen., r. 
Curtain. If curtain rises on tableau, Arn. and Police 1 at l. 

Chas. handcuffed, and Police 2 c, back. Pred on one knee 

supporting Jen.'s head on his arm at r. 



ACT V. 



Scene 1. — Parlor, same as the others. Clara and Arn. discov- 
ered seated r. on sofa. 

Clara. I had no idea that my presence could create so much 
sunshine. 

Arn. As the sun is to the earth so your presence is to me. The 
earth without the sun would be a dreary, black, and dismal place 
indeed ; so I without you would be a gloomy and unhappy being. 
But with that angelic face — 

Clara. There, there, Kobert; I perceive you are a flatterer. 
Where there is flattery there are fools. 

Arn. Yes, where there is flattery there are fools ; but to praise 
the beautiful is not flattery. The person who can look on a 
beautiful perfection without a word of praise, is devoid of all the 
finer feelings which nature has bestowed on man. But, Clara, we 
must not quarrel on our wedding-day. 

Clara. Nor any other day, Robert, I hope. 

Arn. Not if my devotion to your happiness can prevent it. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 37 

Clara. Thanks, Robert ; I fear I can never repay your generous 
devotion. 

Arx. It requires no payment, Clara. I but simply sought my 
own happiness ; because, when you are happy I am happy. Ever 
since your unfortunate marriage — 

Clara. Oh, speak not of that ! I try to forget that I ever was 
married. If I had accepted your generous proposals when first 
offered, oh, how much happier I should be ! Hopes that are past, 
we can never recall. 

Arx. But in their place we can new hopes install. 

Enter Miss Am., f. from r. 

Miss Am. Ah, my children, you will now enjoy real happiness ; 
something which all the world is striving for, but very few ever 
attain. 

Enter Prof., f. from l. 
Professor, is all arranged for the marriage? 

Prof. Yes, all the preliminaries have received my personal 
supervision ; and as soon as you desire, the ecclesiastical gentleman 
will pronounce the words which fasten the matrimonial knot; 
ecclesiastically, at least. Is there anything more I can do for you, 
Clara? 

Clara. Yes, uncle, one thing more. 

Prof. Name it, my dear, and it is yours. 

Clara. I wish there was to be another marriage, uncle. 

Prof. Another marriage ! 

Clara. Yes, uncle. Now, if you would only marry aunt, how 
much pleasanter my marriage would be. 

Prof. Why, my dear, she is a confirmed man-hater. 

Clara. Her ill will towards the men, uncle, is only the result of 
not having a man. 

Prof. Well, if that's the case, then if I should direct any mat- 
rimonial insinuations towards her she might become so overjoyed 
that she'd scratch my eyes out. 

Clara. I will ask her for you, uncle. 

[Dumb conversation between Miss Am. and Clara. 

Prof. Now, I can harangue the multitude for hours on the 
beauties of my polyological nomenclature, and see the working of 
their soul through their eyes. But when it comes to storm a woman 
on her pet subject of love, I feel like a raw soldier before an im- 
pregnable fortress which he is about to assault. 

Miss Am. Professor, am I correctly informed? 

Prof. I — I — isn't she, Clara? 

Miss Am. Have you expressed a desire to form a matrimonial 
connection with me, sir? 

Prof. I — I think; I believe I have; haven't I, Clara? 

Clara. You have, uncle. 

Miss Am. Sir, business of that nature requires the utmost del- 
icacy ; you should, therefore, make a personal application to me 
individually ; and if you wish to proceed it will be necessary that 
you should do so. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 



Prof. Well, here goes : Miss Amariah, you see before you 
the great expounder of natural phenomenas ; the originator of a 
polyological nomenclature incomprehensible to all vulgarity ; a 
man who has mastered and reduced all heretofore chaotic clas- 
sifications and theories to a firm, scientific basis, — a man who is 
continually proving to the world the fallacy of their impossibilities. 
This man, whose unexcelled qualities I have enumerated, into your 
hands, and under your surveillance, I am ready to place. Will you 
accept him ? 

Miss Am. I will. 

Prof. Then take him and be happy. [Gives hand to Miss Am. 

Arn. Professor, all bachelors do not fear marriage, I see. 

Prof. Marriage is the means by which nature continues anima- 
tion. Through the instrumentality of matrimonial connections 
only can life be propagated. Now, to create anything, there must 
be something to create from ; because nothing plus nothing equals 
nothing ; but something plus something always equals something ; 
which conclusively proves that there must have always been some- 
thing. Now, what was that something? It must have been life, for 
what else can create but life; therefore, life had no beginning; 
that which has no beginning can have no ending ; consequently life 
is eternal. 

Miss Am. Professor, I believe we have business of more conse- 
quence than your polytechnical speeches. 

Prof. Ah ! so we have ; I almost forgot my happiness. Well, 
as soon as you are ready I am. 

Miss Am. Clara, we will retire and arrange our toilet. 

[Exit Miss Am. and Clara, r. 

Prof. Arnold, have you seen the morning paper? 

Arn. No, I haven't; anything new, Professor? 

Prof. Yes {takes paper out of pocket), here is a long column 
about ClhTord, and also speaking of you in very high terms. 

Arn. Ah ! you have slightly stirred my curiosity. 
» Prof. Listen, and I'll satisfy it. (Reads.) A desperate attempt 
to escape was made yesterday by Charles Clifton, alias Charles 
Clifford, who is serving a life-sentence for the murder of a very 
efficient police-officer two years ago ; but through the watchfulness 
of the officers, and the efficient system now in operation at the 
prison, he was discovered, and his attempt frustrated; and to pre- 
vent any future attempts, he was placed in a much stronger cell, 
and heavily apparelled in a suit of irons, which he is to wear until 
his future conduct shall justify their removal. The officers believe 
him to have been a hard, brutal desperado, and suppose he has 
committed more than one murder ; but no amount of questioning 
or punishment can draw a confession from him ; and since his incar- 
ceration he has not been known to speak a word, only when com- 
pelled, and then but an indistinct monosyllabic ejaculation. He is 
the most stupid misanthrope that has ever appeared within the walls 
of the prison, and it is observed that he is a creature in which 
every spark of humanity has become extinct. 

Arn. He is a hard case. 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 39 

Prof. If I did not see it, I could never believe that so hard a 
wretch could present so frank an exterior. Now, here's where you 
are mentioned. (Reads.) All good people should combine in 
thanking our very esteemed citizen, Mr. Robert Arnold, who was 
chiefly instrumental in bringing to justice so very dangerous a char- 
acter. Oh ! by the by, I forgot, I must go and procure a license. 
Arnold, you entertain both ladies until I arrive. [Exit f. to l. 

Arn. It seems as if there was some invisible power aiding me in 
this. In the supernatural world, — if there be such a world, which 
I doubt there be, only in the minds of weak, brainless fools, — 
there are but two powers, — a good and an evil. The good, they say, 
always leads to happiness. Now, that is where I am going; there- 
fore I am good. The evil, they say, leads to unhappiness ; that is 
where Clifford is bound, which proves he is evil. Consequently, 
the supernatural as well as the natural justify me. All rational 
modes of reasoning proclaim me right and Clifford wrong ; and as 
those in the wrong must suffer, then Clifford only receives his dues. 

Scene 2d. — Street. Enter Mike, l. in a very dilapidated con- 
dition. 
Mike. Well, I'm back again after my two long years thramping 
over the world, and devil the haporth have I to show for it. Bad 
luck to that shpalpeen that sent me out of the world to shtarve ! 
fwhen I lay me fisht upon his ould caubeen, I'll turn him into smith- 
ereens ; and if I don't then ye may call me davy. 

Enter Prof, r., and comes in forcible contact with Mike. 
Yes, ye may call me dav — Bad luck to you ! am I a foot-ball, or 
what am I ? 

Prof. What are you? 

Mike. Yes; fwhat ami? 

Prof. Well, to describe you scientifically, and give you a place 
in my Polyological Classification, necessitates the employment of a 
polytechnical nomenclature ; therefore, you are, zoologically, a 
mammalated bipedal omniverous vertibrate ; chemically, an amor- 
phical carbonaceous solidification on phosphorated calcium ; bo- 
tanically, you are in class Vulgaria ; order, Europia ; genera, 
Hibernia ; Darwinistically, a caudless, progressive quadrupal biped; 
anthropologically, you are — but I must leave you unfinished, sir, 
as business of the most vital importance awaits me. [Exit Prof. r. 

Mike. Fwhat did he say I was? I wonder did he shpake bad of 
me. Fwhat a fine thing it is to be edecated, fwhen you can shpake 
all that fine edecated talk; and you can shpake all the bad you 
want to, and it 'ont be bad, for devil the one can know fwhat your 
shpaking to him. I musht larn some o' that fine talk, to fetch 
along to Ireland wid me ; and won't the shchoolmaster's eyes 
shtick out fwhen he hears me. Fwhait a fwhile now, I'll ax this 
man that's comin' along fwhat I am, and then I'll larn some of his 
talk. 

Enter Bos., r. 

Say, mishter, will ye plaise tell me fwhat I am? 



40 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Bos. I should pwonounce you, sah, a whiskey-dwinking, vulgah 
Paddy. 

Mike. Ami, now? you little shmikeen; I'll twisht the hedeen 
(shakes Bos ) off from ye I 

Enter Police, l. 
I'll tache— 

Bos. Help ! help ! murder ! 

Police seizes Mike. Mike breaks away. 
Mike. Lay down yer shellaleh and I can bate the two of ye. 
Police. Come, none of your shenanagen. (Seizes Mike, strikes 
him with club, and drags him off,/L.) Come along. [Exit l. 

Bos. Yah, ha, ha ! Clevah ! clevah ! [Exit l. 

Scene 3. — Prison. Chas. discovered chained. 

Chas. Oh, can Heaven be just? 

Enter Pred and Jailer, l. 

Jailer. There he is, sir; but you will only find him a stupid 
misanthrope, without a particle of humanity. , [Exit Jailer, l. 

Fred. Charles ! Charles ! 

Chas. Fred! Oh, you are kind — very kind. I thought every- 
body had forgotten me; but you didn't, Pred, did you? 

Pred. No, Charles, not for one moment; and every day for two 
years I have tried to see you, but they wouldn't let me until to-day, 
when the governor gave me this permission ; but it is only for a few 
moments, and — Can I do anything for you, Charles? 

Chas. No, Fred, nothing. 

Fred. Charles, you have some deep secret that is knawing your 
heart away. I can see it eating your very life out. Come, now, 
Charles, tell me what it is, and — 

Chas. No, no, Fred ; that secret must not be told. Your anxiety 
for my happiness would make another that I worship very unhappy. 

Fred. Why should you care anything about another that cares 
not for you. Charles, the primary consideration of everybody 
should be their own individual happiness. " Self-preservation is the 
first law of nature." 

Chas. Yes, Fred ; but there is another law higher than nature. 
" Do to others as you would have them do unto you" is a law far 
above all nature. 

Fred. But, Charles, I want to do something for you, — only tell 
me how. 

Chas. Fred, I have not seen Jenny for two years. Where is she, 
Fred? 

Fred. I don't know, Charles. At the time of your sentence she 
arose from a sick bed as if by magic, and, on her knees, she vowed 
to Heaven that she would release you from prison or die in the 
attempt. Then she went away, and has not been heard of since. 

Chas. Jenny is a good girl. Pred, can you give her your love? 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 41 

Fred. I already love her with my whole soul, Charles. 

Chas. Then, promise me, Fred, that you will find her, and make 
her your wife. Promise ! 

Fred. I promise. 

Chas. Then, Fred, I can spend the rest of my days in happiness 
here. And, Fred, years hence, when I am an old man, and you 
will have a happy family of smiling children around you, will you 
let them come and see me, Fred? And, Fred, when at night, with 
your happy children gathered about your knees, and their little 
smiling faces uplifted to yours, tell them, Fred, what happy times 
you and I have had together ; and, when you are teaching them 
their prayers, ask them, Frecl, to send one little prayer to heaven 
for me. Fred, when I was a little child — 

Fred. Come, come, Charles, cheer up. 

Chas. Fred, in the whole course of my life I have never wronged 
anybody. I have always tried to live a virtuous life ; and they say 
that virtue is rewarded. See my reward. (Extends hands.} Fred, 
there is no justice in heaven ! 'Tis all a lie ! If it was just, why 
should I be punished for being virtuous. 

Fred. Charles, do you remember how, one hot, sultry, Sabbath 
day, tired, sore, and hungry, we entered a small village meeting- 
house? 

Chas. I do, Fred." 

Fred. How the minister said, that when the jeweller wanted to 
distinguish gold from its imitations, he placed the suspected article 
against a touchstone, and then applied an acid. If it was real gold, 
it shone brighter after the test than before it, and the jeweller 
valued and preserved it; but if it was not gold, it lost its brightness, 
and was cast aside by the jeweller as a worthless counterfeit. 
Charles, our heavenly Father is the jeweller, virtue is the gold, 
this world is the touchstone, temptation is the acid, and man is the 
suspected article. He is placed upon this touchstone world and 
tested with the acid temptation ; and if he is true virtue, then he 
will shine brighter after the test, and that great Jeweller will value 
and preserve him; but, if he is not virtue, then his counterfeit 
brightness will vanish, and that great Jeweller will cast him aside 
as a worthless counterfeit. 

Enter Jailer, l. 

Jailer. Sir, the time allowed for your visit has expired. 

Fred. A moment longer, sir. 

Jailer. My orders are peremptory. 

Fred. Charles, good-by, good-by ! 

Jailer. Come, sir. 

Fred. Charles, I am going. Good-by ! 

Chas. Good-by, Fred, good-by! (Exit Fred and Jailer, l.) 
Oh ! then I am not virtue ; I am only a worthless counterfeit. 
(Kneels.} 

Music, tremido, "Sweet Spij'it, Hear my Prayer." 
O kind and merciful Father ! 

Forgive my weak moments, I pray, 



42 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

And strengthen my wavering virtue, 
To keep all temptation away. 

Enter Jen., l, attired in male costume. 

Jen. Charles! Charles! don't you know me? 

Chas. Jenny! (Embrace.) 

Jen. Charles, I have come to free you. 

Chas. Jenn} r , those stone walls are too thick and strong; and 
our united efforts against them would but exhaust us without 
affecting the walls. 

Jen. Charles, a woman never goes to work like a foolish, 
headstrong man, who, relying on his brute strength, foolishly 
dashes his head against the wall ; and, when discouraged and ex- 
hausted from his vain attempts, he then sits down in despair. No 
woman ever works like that, Charles ; she'll work with more 
subtlety, and never despairs until her object is accomplished. 

Chas. But she sometimes fails, Jenny, and comes to grief; and 
our failure would only bring you to grief, and that would but create 
for me a future misery. 

Jen. Your remaining here, Charles, but prolongs my unhappi- 
ness ; for I can never be happy unless you are so. 

Chas. Then be happ}'. Jenny, you can majse me very happy. 

Jen. Yes — how? 

Chas. It was Fred who saved your life. 

Jen. It was ; and I shall always remember and respect his noble, 
manly heart. 

"Chas. Then promise me, Jenny, to become his wife. 

Jen. Ah! his wife? Who authorized you to choose a husband 
for me? Charles Clifford, for two long years I have unceasingly 
labored to effect your release, and now, when I have come to do so, 
you choose for me a husband. You are unkind, ungrateful. 

Chas. No, no, Jenny. If you only knew how much I thought of 
you, you would not say that. It is through my love for you, Jenny, 
that I wear these chains. 

Jen. For me? 

Chas. Yes. One night, as in my cell I lay, I thought I saw your 
bleeding breast, as it appeared that night when on the cold, damp 
street you lay. Madly to the grating I sprang, and from its place a 
bar I wrenched, and with that bar I "gained the wall ; but right in 
my path, between me and freedom, stood an officer. I raised the 
bar to strike him dead; but, Jenny, I could not kill; my hand 
dropped powerless, and he brutally struck me down, and with curses 
and kicks dragged me back, and on my limbs those chains he placed. 
For you, Jenny, I would willingly suffer much more, for with my 
whole soul I love you, and if I were free I would show you how I 
can love. 

Jen. Then, Charles, you shall be free. (Opens bundle.) See! 
those saws will cut your chains, and this disguise will pass you to 
freedom ! And then, Charles, we will — 

Chas. Be married, Jenny. I swear we will! This, my oath, 
to heaven I send. And, if ever from you I'd ever wish to part, or to 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 43 

another give my heart, then upon this oath, Jenny, you may call. 
Now the saws, the saws ! 

Jen. Yes, yes. Here. {Gives saws.) 

Chas. Now, Jenny, come sit down beside me and tell me your 
adventures and how you came to be a boy, while I undo this work 
of merciful man. 

Jen. Yes. Now, let me hold this while you saw it. There ! 

Chas. Now, I'm ready to hear you, Jenny. 

Jen. I was lying on a sick bed when I heard of your sentence. 
My sickness all vanished, and I determined to free you; but, being 
known and watched by Kobert Arnold, I was obliged to disguise 
myself, and as a boy, I have constantly watched both prison walls and 
officers. They would employ me on small errands at first; and 
after a while, they finding me so trustworthy, they gave me a perma- 
nent position. I saw you quite often, Charles, but was afraid 
to speak to you. One day as an officer passed me with the bunch 
of prison keys I stumbled against him, and, with a piece of clay in 
each hand, I pressed against the keys, and from those pieces of 
clay I made keys to admit me to all these cells. But I saw no way 
of getting you outside the walls, after releasing you from your cell, 
until to-day, when they arrested an Irishman for fighting; he 
became so very unmanageable that they were obliged to transfer 
him to one of those cells. His features bear so strong a resemblance 
to yours that, with a little change, you may easily pass for him. 
I'll transfer him to this cell, when you can exchange clothing; then 
I'll place you in his cell, and give you enough money to pay your 
fine for drunkenness and fighting. Then, Charles, you will be 
free. ( Chain, drops off Charles. ) 

Chas. Free, and with you for my wife, and in another land ! Oh, 
happiness ! I clasp you once again. 

Jen. Be ready to give your clothes to the Irishman when he comes. 

Chas. Not in your presence, Jenny. 

Jen. No. Here, you exchange behind this mattress. (Charles 
and Jenny stand mattress on side on bedstead, in front of trap, 
the height of mattress and bedstead not to be above or below 
Charles' eyebrows,) and while you are exchanging you must get 
him to say all that you possibly can, in order to study his accent 
and tone of voice, which you must assume in case you should be 
compelled to answer any questions while passing the officers. 

Chas. I can speak French, Jenny, and they will think it is 
Irish. 

Jen. No, no ! some of the officers are quite familiar with French; 
besides, we may have occasion to use your French by and by. Now, 
be all ready when I come. (Chas. goes behind mattress. Exit 
Jen., l. Chas. goes down trap • but a head resembling Chas.' is 
always seen moving behind mattress. Re-enter Jen. with Mike, l.) 

Jen. This way, sir. 

Mike. Fwhere are ye goin' to be afther wanting to do wid me at 
all? 

Jen. I want you to go behind that mattress and give your clothes 
to the person you will see there. 



44 THE LADDER OP LIFE. 

Mike. IVhat! to give away me clothes and go naked? 

Jen. No, no ! He will give you his in exchange for yours. 

Mike. Oh! I see now. 'Tis afther shwaping ye'd have me do? 

Jen. Yes. 

Mike. But aren't his clothes any worse nor mine? 

Jen. They are better. 

Mike. Then I'll shwap, — but am I to get any boot? 

Jen. Yes, sir, you shall. Now go. [Mike goes behind mattress. 

Mike. Is it me old duds you'd be afther wanting, sir? 

Jen. Get ready as soon as you can, Charles. I'll go and ascer- 
tain if the way is all clear. \_Exit l. 

Chas. How long have you been in this country, sir? 

Mike. More nor two years, sir. You see, sir, I came over to 
thry and see if I could find any news of my father and the two 
childer that was along wid him in a ship that was losht fwhen they 
wor babies. I have a letther here for the girl fwhen I'll find them. 

Chas. If the ship was lost I don't see how the babies could 
escape. 

Mike. Exhcape ! Look at that, now, for a man of your age to 
afther shpaking. Don't ye know that fwhere there is a ship there 
must be wather, and fwhen there is wather you can shwira; and 
fwhen the ship was getting losht couldn't they lave the ship and go 
into the wather, and fwhen they wor in the wather couldn't they 
shwim ? 

Chas. Your babies must be very old, sir, if they could swim. 

Mike. Wor they, now? The boy was walking and the girl was 
creeping. 

Chas. Brother and sister, were they not? 

Mike. Faith, then, they wor not; so that's fwhere you make 
another mistake. The girl was the daughter of the captain of my 
father's regiment, and the boy was the son of the lieutenant of the 
regiment, and me father was the corporal of the regiment. 

Chas. But how do you know they are not dead? 

Mike. That is fwhat I'm thrying to know, sir. Ye see, sir, there 
is a farm in Wales waiting for the girl ; and I have this letther to 
tell her to come and take it. 

Chas. Show me your letter, — I may assist you. 

Mike. Faith, then, I 'ont; becase the letther is werry valuable, 
and I was tould to not let it go out o' me hands. 

Chas. Then, sir, I fear you will never find your babies unless 
you are more liberal with the information. 

Mike. That's just fwhat I was thinking of myself. Here it is 
for ye. Look at it. The lasht toime we heerd from them was 
fwhen a crazy ould Yankee schoolmashter shtole them from the 
ship fwhen they wor shwiming ashore ; and he gave the boy to a 
Mishter Revere, and nobody knows what he did with the girl. 

Chas. The name of the ship was — 

Mike. Ship ''Argus." 

Chas. (Rushing from behind mattress.} Not my sister ! Thank 
heaven ! 



THE LADDER OP LIFE. 45 

Enter Jen., l. 

Jen. Come, come, Charles ; no time to lose. Here, put on this 
wig. 

Chas. No, Jenny ; I no longer need a disguise. I now can send 
for friends that will open the prison doors, and compel them to set 
me free. 

Jen. Oh, heavens ! If you continue this way all will be lost. 
No friend can get you free by openly demanding it. None can clear 
you of the law but Robert Arnold ; and he will never do so, because 
he'd be compelled to accuse himself. And now, Charles, our future 
success depends upon all the self-possession you can command ; for, 
if we fail now, you may never have another chance. 

Chas. Yes, Jenny, you are right. 

Jen. Here. {Places wig on Chas.) This will perfect your dis- 
guise. Now come. [Exit Chas. and Jen., l. 

Mike. {Dumb head disappears, and only one head is seen behind 
mattress.) I say! Bring back my letther. Are ye lishtening to 
me? (Puts out head.) F where are ye? Bad luck to ye ye sthole 
my letther ! (Mattress falls. Enter Jen., l.) Fwhere is me 
letther? 

Jen. You shall have your letter, sir. Here, put this on. 

[ With chain. 

Mike. Fwhat? Afther shtaling me letter you want to chain me 
down like a wild basht. 

Jen. Remember, that for every day you remain in this cell with 
this chain upon you you shall be paid five dollars a day. 

Mike. But will ye get my letther for me? 

Jen'. I will get your letter, sure. 

Mike. Here, then, shtick on your chain. 

[Jen. puts chain on Mike. 

Jen. Here, put this on. 

Mike. Fwhat's that? 

Jen. Only a wig. 

Mike. A wig! What kind of a basht is that? I wonder will it 
ate my hand ! 

Jen. No, no ; it will not harm you ; it is only a night-cap to keep 
you from catching cold. 

Mike. A night-cap ! Well, by the soul of ould Moll Shlattery's 
black cat but it's the hairiest noight-cap that ever I shtuck me eyes 
upon. (Puts on wig) Ah ! begorra I can't scratch me own head 
at all now. 

Jen. ( With false moustache.) Here, put this on here. 

Mike. And have'nt I enough upon me and not to be shticking 
that little brush undher my nose. 

Jen. Now, sir, you must not speak a single word to anybody ; for 
if you do, they will take this chain off, and then you lose your 
five dollars a day. [Exit Jen., l. 

Mike. Faith, then, I'll shtick to me five dollars a day. Five 
dollars every day, wet and dhry, for not shpaking no word. Be- 
gorra that's moighty foine pay for doin' nothing. Five dollars, — 
that's one pound. One pound every day ! Holy father ! Oh, 



46 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 



begorra, I'm shpaking now, and I didn't know it. Well, I 'ont 
shpake any more. How eowld and lonesome it is ; I wonder if they 
be any gosht or fairies here ; I never seed a gosht myself; but my 
uncle that died used to see them, and they used to come bansheeing 
around him, untill they overlooked him, and he never was the same 
man from that day out. 

Enter Jailer and Minister, l. 

Jailer. There he is, sir ; but I don't think you will find a soul in 
him. 

Mike. Fwhat are them craters afther, I wonder? I'll bet it is to 
make me shpake, so I'll lose my five dollars a day ; but I 'ont 
shpake ; I'll shqueeze me jaws, and I'll hould on to me mouth, and 
then I can't shpake. 

Minister. Sir, through the kindness of his excellency, I am per- 
mitted to administer to your spiritual wants, and prepare your soul 
for an eternal bliss ; but, sir, you must first confess your crimes. 

Mike. (Aside.) My crimes ! Oh, bad luck to him, he'll make 
me shpake ! 

Minister. Sir, it is presumed that you have been principally in- 
terested in several extensive robberies. Confess, — relieve your 
soul of that burden, for as you now stand, you are in the sight of 
heaven a thief, and your persistent denial of the murder of an in- 
nocent man will surely bring you to an awful punishment. Relieve 
your oppressed soul ; unbosom yourself, and cast out forever those 
black crimes which you now keep locked within your bosom, for as 
you now are, unconfessed, you stand before that All-seeing eye a 
thief and murderer. 

Mike. (Grasps minister and shakes him.) Bad luck to ye ! 'tis 
a lie ; I never shtole, or I never kilt, ye spalpeen, ye ; for fwhy do ye 
want to frighten the life out o' me. 

[Jailer runs to Alike and knocks him down with keys. 

Jailer. Are you injured, sir? 

Minister. Not seriously, sir. But I hope you have not killed 
him. 

Jailer. Kill him? Ha! But, sir, you are weak ; come. 

Minister. Poor fellow ! I hope his soul is saved. 

Jailer. There is no soul in him to save. [Exit l. Jail, and Min. 

Mike. Oh, fwhat was it they did do to me at all ! Oh, this is hard- 
hearted treatment that I'm suffering ; and it all come from dhrink- 
ing one shmall drop of fishkey at first. Bad luck to the fishkey ! I 
dhrink no more. I'll take the pledge. Yes, I'll take it right now. 
I'll shwear off right now fwhere I shtand. I, Michael McNoon, 
shwear, from this day out, that I never won't dhrink any more 
fishkey fwhile — while — if I only had one shmall dhrap now, I 
could shwear off nice and aisy. I'll thry again. I, Michael Mc- 
Noon, shwear that I won't tasht or smell to any more fishkey, 
fwhile — fwhile — I can't get it. 

Enter Fred and Jailer, l. 
Fred. Charles, I've got them to take your chains off. 

[Half embracing Mike. 



THE LADDER OE LIFE. 47 

Mike. Bad luck to you ! fwhat are ye shpluttering into me face 
for? fwhat have I done to ye at all? Are ye all thrying to make me 
crazy betune ye? {Throws off disguise and chain.) Ye have my 
poor head almost broke. Bad cess to the whole o' ye ! Come now 
for me, and I'll bate ye all. 

Scene 4. — Room. 
Enter Jen. and Chas., r. Jen. attired in female costume. 

Jen. Here you are safe, Charles. This is my home. After my 
daily labor, in the guise of a boy, I would come here and assume 
my proper character again. The neighbors all believe that I have 
a husband in France. I will say he has come on a visit, and — and 
for your sake, Charles, I shall be compelled to introduce you as 
my French husband, which will give you an opportunity to exer- 
cise your French without calling it Irish. You must assume another 
disguise, which I have here. {Takes paper off bundle and throws 
paper on stage.) There {gives Charles bundle), now go and — 
{Bell rings violently.) Quick, quick, Charles, the police are at the 
door! Come, this way. [Exit Jen. and Chas., r. 

Police. {Outside.) Helloa! within there ! Helloa! {Bell rings 
violently.) Helloa, house! {Enter Police, l.) No one here! 
{Enter Jen., r.) I beg pardon, madam, but has an Irishman and a 
boy entered here? 

Jen. We employ no servants, sir. 

Police. I mean a person who resembles an Irishman accom- 
panied by a boy. 

Jen. I am not aware of any boy having entered here ; and if you 
wish to insinuate that my husband resembles an Irishman, you 
should therefore convey your information to him personally. 

Police. Madam, I have been informed that the parties I am in 
search of entered this house, and I shall be compelled to search. 

Jen. Then, sir, it will be necessary to consult my husband ; and 
though you may with impunity insult his wife, yet remember, he is a 
gentleman who quickly resents every insult. {Goes ton.) Monsieur 
le Grand ! Monsieur le Grand ! a gentleman of the law desires your 
presence. [Enter Chas., r., attired in dressing-gown arid whiskers. 

Chas. Well, monsieur. 
. Police. Sir, there is a very dangerous criminal in this house. 

Chas. Ah ! un criminal ! Monsieur 1' officer, etiquette vill not 
let me do to you what I feel, in the presence of madame. 

Police. You misunderstand me, sir ; an escaped prisoner has 
taken refuge in this house. 

Chas. Ha, ha, ha ! Ver good, monsieur l'officer. I, Pierre le 
Grand, harbor un criminal in mon maison ! Ha, ha ! Yer good, 
indeed. 

Police. He was seen to enter here, sir. 

Chas. Oh ! mais il est invisible to me. 

Police. Sir, I cannot waste time in words ; I should like to 
search the house. 

Chas. Eh? Sarch le maison de Pierre le Grand? 



48 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Police. The law compels me, sir, and those who are foolish and 
headstrong enough to defy the law, always suffer. 

Chas. Oui, oui, monsieur, vous-avez raison ; le maison de Pierre 
le Grand il est at your sarvice, monsieur. Madame, voulez-vous 
le kindness to conduct monsieur l'officer. 

Jen. There is the way, sir. (Points r. Exit Police, r.) Qh, 
Charles, you did splendidly ! Only keep up your courage and all 
will be well. (Bell rings.) 

Fred. (Outside. Helloa! within there. [Jen. looks l. 

Jen. It is Fred ! Don't you recognize him while the police is 
in the house. 

Enter Fred. Jen. at r. keeps her lack to Fred. 



Fred. Say, mister, is there a man and boy here that don't be- 
long here? Speak! Do you hear? Are you deaf? 

Chas. Non, garcon, here, monsieur. 

Fred. Oh, confound your gibberish ! Have you a man here that 
don't belong here? 

Chas. Oui, monsieur, un officer, — le policeman, now sarching 
for le prisoner. 

Fred. Where is the policeman? I want his assistance. 

Chas. Ah, monsieur! you no mean to say you will assist le 
policeman? 

Fred. Yes, I say it. Where is he? 

Chas. My God! monsieur, are you mad? 

Fred. Where is the policeman I say? I see him! [_Exit r. 

Chas. Oh ! Fred against me, too ! Oh, this is the hardest blow 
of all ! 

Jen. Oh, monstrous ! I thought him so noble ! When I lay 
upon a sick bed he watched me as tenderly as a mother would her 
own child. Oh, why should so tender a heart become so base and 
deceitful ! Charles, what is the cause of this ? 

Chas. Jenny, Fred loves you, and while I am free he thinks I 
am in his way, and man's love for woman dissolves the strongest 
friendships. Jenny, Fred is not bad; he can give you a noble 
heart. 

Jen. Do you think I would take to my bosom a base wretch who 
deceived his friend to satisfy his own selfish ends? No, never! 
His very touch would curdle the blood in my veins, and his breath 
would around me create an atmosphere of suffocation ! Charles 
Clifford, you are a coward, and as false as your deceitful friend! 

Chas. No, no, Jenny ! Forgive me, but this letter has changed 
our future life. My love must all go to another. 

Jen. To another? What other? 

Chas. Clara Harold. 

Jen. Clara Harold ! Do you mean the girl who marries Robert 
Arnold to-day? 

Chas. Ah! What? Marry Arnold? 

Jen. Yes. I saw it in this paper. (Picks up newspaper off 
stage and gives it to Chas.) There it is. (Points on paper.) 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 49 

Enter Fred and Policeman, r. 

Fred. He is not here, that's certain. {Goes l. c.) 

Police. Sir, I thank you, and hope you will excuse my rudeness. 
The person I am in search of is not here. {At l.c.) 

Chas. Out of my way ! The first man who tries to stop me I 
will kill as I would a dog ! Out of my way ! 

[Rushing to l., throws Fred, and Exit l. 

Police. It is my man, — the escaped murderer! Stop thief! 
stop thief! [Discharges pistol and Exit l. 

Jen. Oh, you have killed him ! [Exit all, l. 

Scene 5. — Interior of church. Minister standing in pulpit at 
back of stage, facing audience. Clara and Arn. standing fac- 
ing Minister; Clara on r. o/Arn. ; Prof. owl. o/Arn. ; Miss 
Am. on r. of Clara. 

Minister. Here in the presence of earthly witnesses, and under 
the all-seeing eye of that Omnipotent Power who punishes all crime 
and rewards all virtue, you, Robert Arnold, solemnly promise to 
take this woman, Miss Clara Harold, for your lawful wife? 
Arn. I do. 

Minister. Here in the presence of earthly witnesses, and under 
the all-seeing eye of that Omnipotent Power who punishes all crime 
and rewards all virtue, you, Miss Clara Harold, solemnly promise 
to receive, recognize, and obey this man, Mr. Robert Arnold, as 
your lawful husband? 

Enter Chas., r. 
Clara. Ye — ye — yes. 

Minister. {Steps down from pulpit and stands on slight eleva- 
tion in front of Arn. and Clara.) Then, by virtue of the divine 
and earthly power invested in me, I now join you together — {as 
Minister is saying the words "You together" Chas. leaps and 
throws Arn. to l. ; Minister joins the hands of Chas. and Clara, 
and says) — as husband and wife. What God has joined together 
let no man part asunder. 
Chas. Amen ! 

Prof. {Catches Chas. by collar.) Scoundrel! {Sees medal and 
grasps it.) Ah! This medal! Charles Clifford ! 

[Clara screams and falls. 

Enter Fred, r. Miss Am. revives Clara, 

Fred. {Looking to rear.) This way, sir. 
Enter Police, r. 

Arn. There stands your prisoner, — Charles Clifton, the mur- 
derer ! 

Fred. And who are you? 

Arn. His accuser, Robert Arnold. 

Fred. Then, upon the authority of this warrant, I command the 
arrest of his accuser, Robert Arnold. [Gives warrant to Police. 

Arn. What am I accused of? 

Fred. The murder of a policeman, two years ago. 



50 THE LADDER OF LIFE. 

Arn. Who brings this charge? 

Fred. I do. And my witness is a person who saw you commit 
the deed, — Michael McNoon. 

Arn. It is false ; there is no such person in the country. 

Fred. I am aware that you smuggled him off; but he has re- 
turned, and is now at the prison. 

Chas. (Rims to Fred.) Fred! 

Fred. Charles, you're free ! 

Police. Yes ; this warrant calls for the arrest of Robert Arnold. 
I am compelled to execute it. [Handcuffs Arn. 

Chas. Fred, if you only knew how much I have wronged you 
you would never forgive me ! 

Prof. Clifford, where did you get this medal? 

Chas. It was placed on my person when I was a child. 

Prof. You are Clara's brother ! 

Chas. The boy and girl that you saved from the wrecked ship 
"Argus," Professor, are not brother and sister. This letter proves 
it. (Gives letter to Prof.) Clara, I thought I was your brother; 
and, in my anxiety to save you from the dishonor of knowing you 
were your brother's wife, I know I have caused you much unhappi- 
ness. But we will be happy again, Clara, won't we? 

Prof. Yes, Clara is the daughter of Captain Harold, and Charles 
Clifford is the son of Lieutenant Ambrey. 

Miss Am. That is all very well ; but how many wives does Mr. 
Clifford desire? 

Enter Jen. , r. 

Prof. Charles, on the day of your separation you were seen in 
a rather familiar intercourse with a lady who was said to be your 
wife. Was that woman your wife? 

Chas. My wife ! Me with another wife ! I knew you thought 
me guilty of some offence ; but to place me so low in your estima- 
tion as that — Here is that same lady. Jenny, are you my wife? 

Jen. No. 

Clara. (Goes on her knees.) Oh, Charles, forgive me! 

Chas. Yes, Clara, in those arms you will find a full forgiveness. 
(Embrace.) Before we can be united again, Clara, I must obtain 
this lady's consent. Jenny, there stands the lady that should be 
my lawful wife, and to rejoin her again only requires your consent. 

Jen. (Softly.) Sir, for years you have been the subject of my 
thoughts, and for two long, weary years, night and day, I have 
patiently labored to give you freedom ; and as you lay in prison 
chains — Oh, how gladly would those limbs have worn those chains 
for you ! for every clink of your chain sent a painful throb to my 
heart. This bullet-wound in my breast, which I have taken to 
save your life, pains me still, and now it pains me more than ever. 
(Fiercely.) This woman but sees you in the presence of another, 
and for that she cast you forth to the world. And for this hard- 
hearted, selfish woman you now sacrifice me. 

Clara. O-h, forgive me ! 

Jen. Charles Clifford, an oath you did to heaven send, that 



THE LADDER OF LIFE. 51 

if from me you would wish to part, or to another give your heart, 
upon that oath I then should call. Upon that oath I now do call ! 

Miss Am. Hold, young woman ! Mr. Clifford is a divorced hus- 
band. The law forbids his marrying anybody during the lifetime 
of the lady he was divorced from ; and remember that it was you 
who parted them ; and it now lays with you to unite them again. 

Jen. ( Very slowly leads Clara to Chas.) It was I who parted 
you. (Joins the hands of Chas. and Clara together.} I now 
unite you again; live happy. [Overcome, falls into Chas. arms. 

Chas. Jenny, for years you have kept a kiss for me ; here, take 
it again (kiss), and give it to one more worthy of you than I am. 
If you should be my wife, Jenny, Fred would be very unhappy, 
and Clara would be most miserable. You and I, knowing that we 
were the cause of their unhappiness, could not be happy. But 
Heaven has ordained that we shall be happy. My oath was, Jenny, 
we will be married; so we will; I to Clara, and you to Fred. 
Fred, here is as noble a soul, and as pure a gem, as this world con- 
tains. Take her, Fred, and give her the love and devotion her 
pure soul deserves. (Gives Jen. to Fred.) Eobert Arnold, I for- 
give you, and at your trial I will prove that the crime you are now 
accused of was accidental. But remember, that on this Ladder 
of Life there are two roads, and we have our choice of either. One 
of them is the road of sin ; it may be wide, gilded, and tempting, 
but it always leads to misery. The other is the road of virtue ; it 
may be long, narrow, and crooked, but it always leads to happiness. 

[Sta?ids by Clara. 

Prof. Yes, it is a polyological fact, polyologically demonstrated, 
that all virtue always did, and always will, result in a direct oppo- 
sition to all evil, because antagonistical ; and no antagonisms have 
ever been known to harmonize while antagonistic. If we mix 
evil and virtue in the same crucible, there will always be an antago- 
nism, unless assimulation should set in; then, consequently, not 
antagonistic, because assimulation always harmonizes all antago- 
nisms ; but no antagonisms will ever harmonize without assimu- 
lation, which, therefore, proves my former assertion, that no antag- 
onisms have ever been known to harmonize while antagonistic. 

Fred. Charles, the Ladder of Life has no more broken places 
for us. 

Chas. We have passed them all, Fred — 

And at last, after our three long years of strife, 
We've happiness reached on the Ladder of Life. 

CURTAIN. 



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IIHUU 

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